<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Fluff the Third: The Fluffinator by Jassy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641966">Fluff the Third: The Fluffinator</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy'>Jassy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fluffverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfluid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Gore, Threats of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:54:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up from the second in the series, Jaskier and Geralt return to Jaskier's birth home to investigate the deaths and disappearance of almost all his family. Only his father remains.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fluffverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier pulled Rascal to a halt as the gates to his family’s land came into view. There were more guards stationed there than was the norm. Instead of one, there were four, and they were bristling with full armor and weapons rather than a uniform and single sword. He hadn’t bothered to make either himself or Geralt change this time. His identity would be known, so there was no point, no need to look a part to be admitted. And he was glad of it now, seeing the weapons. Whatever had happened, it was clear that his father did not feel secure. So his own dagger and short sword were strapped to his person, and Geralt exuded menace in his usual black leather armor and double swords, and they were at least ready if something should happen.</p><p>He wasn’t sure he had words to properly describe all that he was feeling, and had been feeling since the night of his concert. There was grief still there, and fear. Dread and remorse and guilt, and so many other things that resulted in a vaguely nauseous feeling in his gut. He knew his reduced appetite was worrying his lover, but he couldn’t help it. He ate what he could manage, not wanting to be weakened if they had to fight or flee, but it always sat poorly in his stomach.</p><p>“Jas?” Geralt prompted gently.</p><p>“I know. We won’t learn much just sitting here, I just.” He shook his head. “I fully intended to never lay eyes on this place again. I don’t like it.”</p><p>“I know. I don’t either. But we need to know what happened, how safe you are. And you need to renounce your title for good,” Geralt reminded him.</p><p>“Yeah,” he sighed. He took a deep breath in a futile effort to steady his nerves and then nudged Rascal into motion again.</p><p>The guards had been eyeing them the whole time, and their expressions were made of pure suspicion. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at them when the gate wasn’t opened. “I am Julian Pankratz. Let us pass.”</p><p>One of the guards blinked in shock while the other remained suspicious. “Your pardon, lordship,” the shocked guard said. “It has been some time since you’ve been home – I hardly recognized you! You’re, ah, looking…different.”</p><p>“We have been traveling for some time,” Jaskier said dryly. “Silk does not wear well on horseback. Would you mind terribly opening the gate? It’s only that if Geralt does it, it will require repairs.” </p><p>“Of course! Get a move on, you ninny,” he hissed at one of his comrades, giving the man a shove. They unlocked and swung the gates open to admit them. Once they were through, the gate was closed and locked again.</p><p>Jaskier glanced back. Though the gate itself was relatively impressive, standing several feet tall, made of menacing black iron, it was set into a wall barely six feet high. As far as he could see, there were no patrols along the wall at all. There never had been. The Pankratz patriarch had long been secure in his own sense of superiority, thinking he was untouchable. He was out of practice. To be fair, it had been a long time since anyone had dared oppose him, and the idea of bandits attempting to rob the house had once been laughable – they would have been hunted down and slaughtered without mercy for daring to even think of it.</p><p>When they reached the house, the butler was waiting to great them. “We are so pleased you have returned safely, Your Lordship,” he intoned, bowing formally. He was old, and very proper, and had often stood by with a blank look on his face when Jaskier had been punished. As had the majority of the servants, though Jaskier couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t just their livelihoods that they would have risked if they protested, it was their lives. But with Crichton, he’d often had the impression the man approved of the treatment.</p><p>Jaskier swung down from Rascal’s back as a pair of stable hands rushed forward to take their reins. “I don’t expect that to last,” he said flatly. “Make sure our things are taken to the largest guest room – all our things, to the same room,” he warned. “I will not reside in my childhood bedroom. And Geralt stays with me. Have a bath sent up, and a meal, and it had better be fit for humans to eat.”</p><p>Crichton’s face soured and he drew himself up in afront. “We do not serve anything else here,” he said stiffly.</p><p>“Bullshit. I recall only too well the meals I was served when I was out of favor – which was often. Be advised, I will absolutely take over the kitchen if there’s anything amiss with our food. Where is my father?” He glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon. “His study, unless his habits have changed.”</p><p>“He is indeed in his study. After recent events, he spends little time elsewhere. His grief is strong. I trust you have no plans to make it worse.”</p><p>“I came to find out what happened,” Jaskier said coldly. “I doubt my visit will improve his disposition any.” He brushed by, Geralt at his side, and entered the house through the main doors.</p><p>The inside was as claustrophobic as it had always been. Too much dark, ornately carved wood, dark heavy drapes blocked out most of the sunlight. Expensive vases and paintings, ancient armor and weapons from a time when the family had once been warriors for the crown, everything intended to slap visitors in the face with the expense and therefore the family’s wealth and importance. “Not a friend, then?” Geralt questioned softly.</p><p>“I had no friends here. I doubt that has changed.” Geralt grasped his hand as they walked, reminding him that he did not face this alone and friendless anymore. He squeezed it gratefully.</p><p>The heavy wooden doors that featured in so many of Jaskier’s nightmares loomed in front of them. But with Geralt at his side, they were somehow less threatening. Certainly it wouldn’t take Geralt long to kick his way through them, and if that failed, <em>igni</em> certainly would not. He threw them open with more confidence than he ever had as a boy and walked in.</p><p>His father’s study was dim. The drapes were completely closed, and the fire was small, so that the bulk of the illumination came from a single candelabra on the table. His father sat behind his desk, as he always had, though he was bent over as he never had been before. Jaskier squinted in the dim light to see what his father was looking at and could just barely make out a hint of color, like a painting or illustration. He lifted his eyes from whatever it was and met Jaskier’s. He looked far older than Jaskier expected, older even than his sixty years. His eyes, though dry, appeared a bit bloodshot, though Jaskier would wager it was irritation from staring at something in poor light rather than any tears. It seemed to take him a moment to register who was in front of him, then resignation crawled across his face. “Julian,” he acknowledged. “You were given one of my messages, then. I did not believe you would come. Duty has never been a priority for you.”</p><p>“It still is not, but even I could not ignore this one. The message I got was…sparse. What happened?” Jaskier approached the desk and sat, gesturing discreetly for Geralt to do the same. He’d always been made to stand in this room, never in favor enough to be allowed to sit as though welcome. He would not stand fidgeting before his father like an errant child ever again.</p><p>“Ah. Two months ago, the servants went to wake your siblings and their spouses for breakfast. They found them all dead, throats slit while they slept. You had four nephews and two nieces, you know. The oldest was twelve, the youngest just five summers. They were all dead too. Your mother is missing. We know nothing about who is responsible, though I have paid many men to investigate. They have found nothing – <strong>nothing</strong> in all these weeks!” His father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you any idea…no, of course you don’t. Five families, Julian. Five families that once allied with us are readying for a feud if I cannot find answers to what happened. Trade agreements, favors, <em>years</em> of power building, all on the verge of collapse!”</p><p>“And sixteen people dead in one night,” Geralt said sharply. “Including six innocent children.”</p><p>Reginold Pankratz focused on him for the first time, and his disgust was clearly visible. “Just who are you, exactly, that you come to my house and speak to me that way? You knew none of them!”</p><p>“I am Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>“The Butcher of Blaviken. Wonderful. Julian, your talent for inappropriate companions holds strong. Even after all this time. I don’t know why I ever thought you could do better. No matter. I’ve a match ready for you. The youngest daughter of Count Ferus. Apparently the chit likes your little…twiddles, so you should get on well enough. We’ve little time to waste, we must gather what allies we can.”</p><p>Jaskier shook his head. “I will not marry anyone. I am bound to Geralt for the whole of my life. Since I was not informed of the deaths in time for the funeral rites, we will be focusing only on trying to find out who did this. Nothing more.”</p><p>“<em>You dare!</em>” Reginold shot to his feet, face gone red with his rage. “You dare, even now, with your family not cold in their graves and your mother <em>missing</em>, to come here and still defy me!” His eyes bulged, and his hand twitched towards his desk drawer, where the hated strap had always resided. For their sakes, Jaskier hoped his nieces and nephews had been more like their parents than himself and had never had cause to feel its bite. “Clearly I was too soft on you, but it’s not too late to fix that,” he threatened.</p><p>Geralt shot up and gripped his wrist in a punishing grip, squeezing tight enough that his knuckles turned white. “If you even <em>think</em> of laying a hand – or strap – on him again, I will break both your arms and tie them in a knot behind your back,” he promised.</p><p>Jaskier felt…oddly calm. Even without Geralt’s intervention, he hadn’t been afraid. His father was not the imposing, frightening figure of his childhood anymore. He was an empty old man. And Jaskier had seen the world. He had seen monsters, both human and otherwise, and he’d seen them defeated. He had learned to use a dagger, a sword, and a bow with reasonable proficiency. He had played in the courts of kings, survived a djinn’s curse, and seen a golden dragon. He could change his form into anything he wished. And even without all that, he was pretty sure he could lay his father out with just one punch – Geralt had taught him how to do that a long time ago, so he would be more effective in the bar fights that erupted too often when strong drink and dice were mixed.</p><p>Further, he had, for once in his life, more power than he ever had before. As the only remaining child, he was the heir until he renounced it. That gave him rights and privilege that he’d never had before. If he truly wanted, he could make a case for feeble mindedness in his father with the crown. Even if he failed, just the doing of it would ruin whatever contracts and alliances his father still had left. He would be left humiliated until the end of his days.</p><p>The fear left from his childhood was gone. Though he still feared that whatever force had chosen to murder the majority of his direct blood kin would come for him, he no longer feared just being in the oppressive house anymore. He could get out if he wished, and Geralt certainly would not leave him there. “You should calm yourself, father,” he said. He stood and patted at his dusty pants. “At your age, getting so worked up is not good for your heart, and I don’t believe there’s a healer close enough that could assist.” He met those bulging eyes evenly. “We will retire for the moment to bathe and eat. And then we will be begin investigating. I expect full cooperation from the staff, and full access to the family suites.”</p><p>Geralt released his grip. Reginold didn’t clutch at it, not wanting to show weakness, but Jaskier could see the bruising already rising. With a final pat to his dusty pants, he turned and walked out. Even he could hear the footsteps hurrying away all around them as the servants ran to avoid being caught eavesdropping. They climbed the great winding staircase to the upper floor and moved down the hall to where honored guests would be housed. The best rooms, except of course for those of his parents and the suites his siblings had once inhabited. His room was in another wing, as far from his parents as could be, and had been small and cramped and drafty. He realized now that he could thank his elven blood for keeping him from getting sick every winter.</p><p>He was marginally relieved that their bags had indeed been placed in the largest room, as ordered. It would have taken a bit of the wind out of him if he’d had to go looking. There were covered dishes laid on the table, and the large metal tub was three quarters full with water. A truly stupid number of scented oils and bath salts were laid out on a small table beside it, likely as a way for Crichton to somehow snub his nose at them for even hinting that the proper hospitality for the new scion of the family would not be shown.</p><p>Jaskier ignored all the offerings and instead dug out their own unscented soap. He didn’t bother with perfumes unless he was performing for the wealthy, and Geralt didn’t care to have a scent on him – he found them distracting. Geralt lifted the covers off the trays to find well prepared meats and vegetables, and an array of sweets. He sniffed suspiciously at all of them, then nodded to Jaskier when he could detect no tampering. Jaskier dropped into a chair at the table and blew out a breath. “Well, that could have gone worse,” he noted.</p><p>“True – you weren’t afraid of him. You have been, I’ve heard your nightmares.”</p><p>Jaskier made a face. “Yes, well. He was larger than life, once. Now he’s not. Now he’s just a cruel, cold old man.” He picked at the food, managing a few bites of this and that, not really paying attention. “Slit throats,” he said quietly. “Even the littlest. Does that – would Nilfgaard do that?”</p><p>“They would. They were not – <em>kind</em> during the sacking. Their forces have no scruples. But I don’t see why they would leave your father alive. And why would they <em>take</em> your mother?” Geralt pointed out. “He said she was missing, not dead.” He applied himself with a bit more dedication to the food than Jaskier, but then, one of them certainly needed to. Really, they both did. If he had to shift, it wouldn’t be a good idea to be run down to start with.</p><p>With a sigh, he forced himself to eat more. They were quiet for a few minutes as they made some decent inroads on the food. Jaskier felt his lips twitch a bit when Geralt tried to sneak one of the cakes. His witcher had a bit of a sweet tooth, that he rarely indulged.</p><p>“I wonder how they managed to get your mother out without waking your father,” Geralt mused, licking a bit of frosting from his fork. “Does he rely on wine or any herbs for sleep?”</p><p>“Not that I know of, but that wouldn’t be an issue. They don’t share a bedroom, love.” He laughed outright at the nonplussed look on his lover’s face. “Theirs was no love match – it was an alliance. I’ll grant that they were at least dedicated to each other and the alliance, but there were no feelings beyond that. They each have a suite, smaller than the family units my siblings likely inhabited, but enough space that they wouldn’t hear anything from the other unless it were truly loud.”</p><p>“That’s just – who sentences themselves to living with someone, marriage to someone….” He trailed off and then pointed a fork at Jaskier. “It’s one of those fucked up highborn things, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Well, wealthy, anyway. Many marriages are based on need rather than love, witcher-mine. The baker’s daughter that marries the butcher’s son, not because they’re in love, but because it offers security, inherited trade for their children, steady income, that sort of thing. The lucky ones find affection grows with time. The richer you get, the more elaborate the benefits, but it’s often just a variation on that theme.” He smiled, a little whimsically. “It’s why I had so many invitations to so many married beds – there was no love between them, just need or possession. It’s also why I ran fast and far from the very idea. Catch me settling for something that bleak!” He stood and rounded the table so he could lean down and lick a bit of frosting off those amazing lips. “I knew better,” he murmured. “I knew to <em>wait</em>, and look what my patience brought me. My witcher, my strong, brave, amazing, gorgeous, noble, kind-hearted –“ Geralt stopped the litany of praise with his mouth, licking into Jaskier’s with a sugar-sweetened tongue. He pulled back and looked pointedly at the waiting bath. Jaskier grinned. “My genius witcher. Heat the water, won’t you, love?” He straightened and began to unbutton his travel jacket.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>witcher. Heat the water, won’t you, love?” He straightened and began to unbutton his travel jacket.</p><p>Quite a while later, he pulled a clean shirt on over his head and caught sight of the water splashed around the tub when his head popped clear. He warred internally over on. On one hand, as prissy as he could be about things, he also wasn’t one to leave a mess. On the other, he did have a role to play while they were there. Many of the servants had ideas about what was and was not proper behavior for the highborn, and cleaning up their own mess most definitely fell into the category of <em>not</em>. If the maids that tended the rooms these days were more like Crichton, then they’d be pissy about him cleaning up a mess.</p><p>But if they were younger, newer, it might earn him some good will.</p><p>“It’s just water, Jas, not the key to the mystery of life,” Geralt told him, already buckling his armor back on.</p><p>“Well, it could be a key to <em>something</em>,” he quipped back. But he did grab their towels and sop up the worst of it. If the maids were old school, it wouldn’t really make a difference. He was already going to have to threaten Crichton to get anything out of the sour old man, making the same threats to recalcitrant maids wasn’t going to be any harder. He pulled his doublet on but left it unfastened. No point in giving the impression that he was trying to impress anyone. “Where do you want to start?”</p><p>“The suites.” Geralt adjusted the swords on his back, then gave him a long, steady look. “You don’t need to come,” he said gently.</p><p>“I’ll come. It won’t – bother me, love. Maybe the children’s rooms, a bit, but only for the fact of their age. I never actually met any of them. And the…mess, will have been cleaned by now. I don’t know how much even you’ll be able to find.”</p><p>“Maybe nothing,” Geralt allowed. “But I’ve found more at older scenes, so we won’t know until we look.” He pulled Jaskier close and breathed against his neck for a few moments. “Whatever they cleaned up, it’s unlikely they changed much about the rooms themselves. Pay attention for anything out of place.”</p><p>Jaskier had been very wrong. <em>Nothing</em> had been cleaned up. After they bullied the keys off of Crichton, they let themselves in, and the stink of old, rotting blood assaulted their noses. Jaskier gagged and immediately yanked his shirt over his nose. Geralt grimaced, but being used to such smells, didn’t react much beyond that. He did turn a concerned look Jaskier’s way, but Jaskier just waved him on. The sooner they got it done, the sooner they could go back to their room and wash again to rid them of the stench that would no doubt sink into their clothes and hair.</p><p>Geralt wandered off, examining door frames and window frames and the like. Jaskier walked through with a rather different eye. The suite was laid out as he would have expected. There was a central room, where his brother and his wife would have had meals with the children on the rare occasions they didn’t all eat down in the formal dining room. Off the main room was a pair of bedrooms, with a connecting door where they would each have slept, when they weren’t trying to make another offspring to marry off for alliances. Off the other side of the main room were the children’s rooms. It <em>did</em> make tears well in his eyes when he saw the small beds, small wardrobes with the smaller clothing sticking out, but he blinked them back. Time enough to cry later. His eldest brother had gotten two children from his wife, both boys. Other than the hint of clothing poking out, the rooms were ruthlessly neat. No toys or books laying about. There was a pillow on the floor beside one of the beds, but that could easily have come from when the maids had discovered the bodies, or when the bodies themselves were taken out to be cleaned and prepared for the burial. That was more Geralt’s area to discover. He was there to see if anything seemed out of place or unusual, but frankly, if he’d been asked to describe what he thought the bedrooms of his family members looked like, he could have damn near painted the scene without ever having seen it – minus the blood soaking the bed and sprayed over the walls and even the canopy. Even the younger child’s room was the same, not even a stuffed toy in sight.</p><p>He passed Geralt on his way to the adult’s rooms and was not heartened by the tiny headshake his lover gave him.</p><p>His brother’s room was immaculate, as expected. His wardrobe was closed, with his clothing neatly hung up inside when he opened it to look. There was a comb beside a bowl that would have had water in it for his morning grooming. No books, no nothing that hinted at any sort of personality. His wife’s room had a tiny bit more character, as there were paintings of bright flowers on the walls, a hint of perfume in the air, and some half finished embroidery by the bed, now stained with blood. Her jewelry seemed to be all accounted for – no doubt his father had forbidden her to be buried with any of it, as it would have all been gifted to her by his brother, and was therefore the family’s more than it had been <em>hers</em>.</p><p>The other suites were much the same, varying only in the number of bedrooms needed for the children. The only thing that jumped out at him was the scrap of cloth peeking out from under the five year old girl’s pillows. Jaskier tugged it out and found a lovely blanket, sized for a baby – probably embroidered by her mother while his sister was still pregnant with her. At five, she would have been deemed too old for such a comfort item, and it gave him a little comfort himself to know his sister had allowed this indulgence for her young daughter. By rights, she should have been buried with it, but even if his father had known of it, he would not have allowed it.</p><p>Without thinking, he tucked the thing into his doublet and went to find Geralt. “Anything?” he asked as they relocked the door to the final suite.</p><p>“Hard to say, with all the blood. Something…almost familiar, just at the edge of memory, but it wasn’t strong enough for me to be really sure. There were no signs of the doors or windows being forced, though.”</p><p>“Well, if they got inside the house from one of the doors, they wouldn’t have had to force their way into the suites. It was not a habit to lock them. There was no need. If anyone dared enter outside of the approved times, there would have been hell to pay if there wasn’t a truly good reason for it. Mother’s rooms?”</p><p>“If she was taken, there might be more to find there. No blood rotting to foul the air.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded and led the way. His parents’ rooms were, of course, in their own wing, and each sprawling suite took up a side of the hallway. Right for his father, left for his mother. Jaskier was immediately assaulted by the floral scent of her perfume. Though it wasn’t particularly strong, not really, she had used the scent for so many years that it had imbued itself into the very wood of the walls. They wandered through the rooms, as immaculate as any other in the house, save for the dead flowers in the vases. There was a hothouse on the grounds, and she had insisted on fresh flowers every four days, religiously. No one had been in to change them or dispose of the dead ones since that night, clearly. Her sitting room and bathing room were untouched, seeming ready to host an occupant at any moment. In her dressing room, all her gowns seemed accounted for, no gaps anywhere to indicate that she had packed. There did seem to be a missing nightdress and robe, but if she were taken in the night that would make sense. It was what she had no doubt been wearing that night.</p><p>In her bedroom, the only mess was the bed. The covers were tossed back and the pillows still dented from where she had lain, with no effort to plump or straighten anything. Jaskier opened the drawer of the bedside table and frowned. He moved back into her dressing room and went through her jewelry – twice.</p><p>“What’s missing, fluff?”</p><p>“Her necklace. The one she always wore. I never saw her without it, but I always thought – she wouldn’t have worn it to bed, would she?”</p><p>“The one she wore the day we spoke to her? Probably, it’s what her glamour was tied to. If she was hiding what she was, she wouldn’t have wanted to risk getting caught without it. Is there anything else missing?”</p><p>“No. She’s just – gone. In her nightclothes, since there aren’t any gaps in her wardrobe. It doesn’t even seem like she’s missing any shoes. It’s like she got up and just walked out.” He shook his head, bewildered. “I expected to see signs that she’d fought or…<em>something</em>. She wouldn’t just leave, though. She was as invested in father’s machinations as he was. She wanted money and power, the more of each, the better. I don’t see her just walking out, even under threat of a sword or something, without making a massive fuss.” He looked around again and added thoughtfully, “Well, not unless they made her a better offer. If she were offered higher status, more money and power….I could see her taking the deal.”</p><p>“At the expense of her children and grandchildren?”</p><p>“If it were just me, then yeah, in a heartbeat,” he said, a little bitterly. Then he sighed and shrugged. “I can’t say about the others. She favored them over me, of course, but. Did she love them? I don’t know. I don’t know if she was capable of love. If she was offered a better deal by someone else…I don’t know if she would object to the price. If she even knew of it.” He pulled the baby blanket out of his doublet and held it up. “I can promise she and my father did not know of even this – it would not have been allowed. For a <em>five year old</em>. That isn’t…that tells me she didn’t care.” Geralt, bless him, just nodded, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.</p><p>“Alright. We’ll have to move on to questioning the staff. There is little to be found here.”</p><p>“What about that smell? Is it clearer in here?”</p><p>Geralt grimaced. “I’m not sure the scent is significant. All the rooms smelled a bit like you – cedar and sweetgrass, but different. Like combining two scented oils, but in different amounts each time. Woodsy, natural. The only rooms that didn’t have much of that scent are the spouses’ rooms – those not related to you by blood. I think it’s to do with your mixed heritage.”</p><p>“Huh. It would probably have horrified them to know we had even that in common.”</p><p>Geralt led him out of the suite and in search of the household staff. Most fled as soon as they saw them coming, only Crichton standing his ground but refusing to answer Geralt’s questions about that night. Jaskier finally got sick of it and drew himself up.</p><p>“It has clearly escaped your notice, but <strong>I </strong>am heir now,” he said coldly. “As little as we both might like it. I would legally be within my rights to dismiss you and every single member of the staff, and there would not be anything my father could do about it. He has failed, utterly, to protect the welfare of his own bloodkin, it would take nothing to have him declared unfit for his title and you know that. if you don’t want to find yourself a penniless beggar in the streets, you <em>will</em> answer our questions. And you <em>will</em> lift whatever orders you gave to the staff to avoid us or fail to answer our questions. Is that clear?”</p><p>The old man blanched. “You can’t – you wouldn’t! I have served this family my whole life!”</p><p>“Not my problem. And you are not serving them now with your refusal to speak – or perhaps you had something to do with the murders? Is that it? Did you let someone in the house that night?”</p><p>“I most certainly did not! You dare even suggest –“</p><p>Jasker cut his hand through the air, stopping the indignant sputtering. “If you had nothing to do with it, then you have no reason to not share what you know.”</p><p>Geralt shifted beside him, crossing his arms so his biceps bulged. “Describe everything that happened that day and night. Leave nothing out.”</p><p>Crichton looked back and forth between them for a few moments then seemed to sag in on himself, though his posture didn’t actually change. “There was nothing unusual. The children spent the day with their tutors. The family engaged in their normal routines. Your mother was making arrangements for a trip to court once the roads cleared, so the seamstress was summoned to measure everyone for appropriate clothing. Your father was dealing with correspondence, I believe in regards to a marriage for the eldest grandson. He would have turned thirteen this year, and there were excellent prospects for a strong match with the Baron de Milton’s granddaughter.” His face grew somber. “Your sister had announced she was with child again, so the staff had begun preparations to move them into a larger suite to accommodate the third child, and your sister was giving direction as to how she wanted the new suite decorated. All meals were prepared and served as usual, and the household retired for the night at the usual time. I made a final check of the house to make certain all was in order before retiring myself. It wasn’t until the staff entered to wake the children that there was any indication of anything amiss.”</p><p>“Tell me about the morning they were found, and then I’ll want to speak to the maids that found them. Was there any sign of anyone forcing entry? Perhaps windows that had been pried open but have been repaired since?” Geralt asked.</p><p>“There was no damage anywhere. I wanted to have the rooms cleaned, the bedding burned, but his lordship forbade anyone entering after the family were taken out for burial. Truly, sirs, I can think of nothing that makes that day stand out from any other, nor we could determine how the killer got in.”</p><p>“Killers – more than one,” Geralt corrected. “The adult bedrooms in the suites are too close together. A slit throat is quick and sure, but not instant – someone made noise that would have roused their spouse.”</p><p>“But how could more than one man get in and do all that without rousing anyone in the household?”</p><p>“How could only one man have convinced mother to go with him without making noise?” Jaskier shot back. “Who, besides the seamstress, as she been corresponding with of late?”</p><p>“Well…no one. I supervise the food orders for the house with direction from her Ladyship, and other than the planned trip to court, nothing was planned that would require her attention. His Lordship handles all family affairs, with some consultation from your eldest brother.”</p><p>“Interesting.” Geralt studied him for a moment. Jaskier could see the slight flare of his nostrils as he scented the air, getting a read on the man. “You may return to your duties. We might have more questions later.” Crichton bobbed his head and scurried away, a mannerism previously only seen before when his father was angry with him. “I have to ask, is there a reason you’re playing arrogant lord of the manor?”</p><p>“Yes.” He leaned against his lover and dropped his voice in case of any curious ears about the place. “If I make it known now that I plan to renounce my claim, legally they can just boot us out and we’ll never get answers. As the only heir, I have almost as much power as my father. I wasn’t joking about writing to the crown to declare father unfit. Depending on the strength of his remaining alliances, it might not work, but even bringing the case to the courts would cause more damage than he could ever hope to recover from. He’s hanging by a thread as it is.”</p><p>“So why haven’t you? You would be justified.”</p><p>“It would mean locking in my claim to the title – not what I want to do. So until we know what happened, I can’t say anything. And the only way to get most of these people to talk is to act like the rest of the family.” He let his head drop to rest on his shoulder. “It’s exhausting,” he admitted. “I hate it. I hate sounding like them. You’d think basic kindness and respect would be enough, but.”</p><p>“Let us hope we can find answers swiftly, then.” Geralt brushed a kiss over his forehead, then took his hand to lead him to the next person.</p><p>They managed to question several more of the household staff before the evening meal was served. Not one could report anything out of the ordinary either that day or in the days leading up to the murders. It was frustrating, but not surprising. Had any of them known anything, they would have at least told Crichton, who would have told them. One way or another. Rather reluctantly, they went to dinner.</p><p>Geralt earned more than a few scandalized looks when he failed to remove his weapons when they walked in and sat themselves by the head of the table. Reginold was already there and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.</p><p>“Careful, father, getting so worked up isn’t good for you,” Jaskier reminded him. He kept the amusement out of his voice, but that was his only concession. He had a feeling – a hope – that he would have to remind his father of that often. It was petty, certainly. Maybe borderline cruel. But it was also immensely cathartic to see his father impotent, powerless over him in direct contrast to Jaskier’s childhood, when he’d been the one helpless against those that had power over him.</p><p>Geralt, without ceremony, began scooping food onto both their dishes, sniffing each carefully before adding anything to Jaskier’s plate. He barely spared a glance to the old man. “Two months ago someone murdered all your children, their spouses, and their children. Until I know who, I will remain armed to make sure it does not happen to Jaskier.”</p><p>“His name is Julian!” Reginold snapped, pounding his fist on the table.</p><p>“Yet he prefers the name Jaskier. Now, how many powerful families want to kill or harm you in some way?”</p><p>“You think I didn’t think of that?” Reginold scoffed. “No one would dare!”</p><p>“And yet, here we are. Someone dared. You had at least two killers break into your home, sneak from room to room, and cut the throats of every living member of your family. Only Jaskier, across the continent with me, and yourself, simply across the hallway from your wife, were spared. Someone wanted you to suffer.”</p><p>Reginold’s face twisted. “Perhaps it was Julian,” he suggested. “He’s never managed to behave properly and acted like we were the monsters for trying to correct him. Only the deaths of all of my children and grandchildren could have put him in line for the title.”</p><p>Jaskier laughed, a twisted, bitter parody of his usual cheer. “You must be mad,” he said baldly. “You think I would volunteer for this? I had a very good life, before the murders. I traveled where I wished, raked in piles of gold when I felt like putting in a little extra effort. I could have had a very cushy post at almost any court on the continent, any noble house. My name is known almost everywhere, my songs sung in every tavern. I never wanted this life, and was happy to leave it to you and my siblings who <em>did</em>. Pull your head out of your arse, father, and just answer the question. The killers were able to get into this house with no one the wiser. To hire someone that good would take a great deal of money.”</p><p>Even Jaskier could hear the grinding of his father’s teeth, no enhanced ears needed. Eventually, after a fortifying gulp of wine, he finally unbent enough to respond. “I considered that. There are…a few families, that have been…on the wrong end of my dealings through the years. My men have reported no suspicious payouts from them. No land signed away, no loss of family jewels. In short, no conceivable method of payments of the size to hire someone with the skill to get in here.”</p><p>“Let’s say your men didn’t miss anything. That means that the killers themselves had some kind of major grudge.”</p><p>“Murderers then. I have never had dealings with murderers.”</p><p>Jaskier sighed. “You’re not being very helpful. It’s almost like you don’t want us to find out who did this.” His fingers drummed on the table. He missed his lute. He always thought better when he had his lute in his hands. But…. “Tell me, what are the plans to deal with Nilfgaard’s forces? There’s word they’re planning to expand still further. If they take Verden, Kerack won’t be far behind. If they invade, you will likely lose everything.”</p><p>“Kerack is mobilizing. The army is being expanded and trained, and we will be sending reinforcements to Verden.”</p><p>“Nilfgaard took Cintra. They were stopped at Sodden, but they have had time to recover from that loss. If they send the same size forces, I don’t know that even a reinforced Verden can stand.”</p><p>“Just what are you implying,” Reginold demanded in a furious hiss.</p><p>“You have always hedged your bets. You didn’t expect me to return, not really. If I hadn’t shown up, all your current heirs are gone, leaving room for new ones. If you allied with Nilfgaard, you could easily marry one of their noble women, young enough to get another couple of heirs on. Mother would be an ideal hostage. I’ve heard they don’t mind men with multiple wives in Nilfgaard. Your next child would be heir, your wealth and position secure under new rule.”</p><p>The absolute outrage that turned his father’s face a deep crimson suggested he was pretty off base, although he wished he felt worse about the speculation. It was exactly the type of scheme his father would go in for, though usually not outside of Kerack’s borders.</p><p>“How dare you even <em>suggest</em> that I would break my oaths to my crown, my country, and my wife!” he thundered when he found his tongue again.</p><p>“I do not put <em>anything</em> past your desire to save your own arse and status,” Jaskier said flatly.</p><p>Reginold drew himself up in his seat. “Remove yourself from this table. You are not to return until you have apologized, is that clear?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugged and stood. He lifted his plate and glass, saluted his father as Geralt rose with him, and they left to finish their meal in their room as Reginold sputtered at the table alone.</p><p>“So, did he smell like he was lying at all?” Jaskier asked once their door was shut.</p><p>Geralt shook his head. “No, he didn’t. That doesn’t mean Nilfgaard wasn’t involved, of course, just that he didn’t ally with them. It bothers me, though. The rooms have been closed off since the murder. Assassinating someone is a stressful business. Were the killers really so calm about it that they didn’t even sweat?”</p><p>Jaskier flopped back in his seat and continued to pick at his food. “Well, I do know of a few different compounds that will stop someone sweating. But even to my nose, they have pretty distinct odors – not great, although not nearly what we smelled in those rooms. So if sweat would linger, so would those smells.”</p><p>“I want to talk to the outside staff as soon as possible. In my experience, outside staff stays up later than inside staff.”</p><p>“Kitchen staff, too. Up late cleaning up, up early preparing food. We’ll get them first thing in the morning.” They ate a little more before Jaskier flicked a speculative gaze at his lover.</p><p>“What are you planning?” Geralt asked, seemingly without lifting his eyes from his plate.</p><p>“Well…..I’d like to tiptoe around tonight, see what gossip I can hear. Of course, I would be less noticeable and hear better if I was, y’know…a cat. What do you think?”</p><p>“I think if you plan such a thing, you should finish eating.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded and applied himself to the rest of his food. Once he was done, he stood and stripped. Geralt waited near the door, listening for anyone nearby. “It’s clear. I’ll hear you when you get back. Your family does not keep cats inside, so it will be obvious that something’s odd if you’re spotted. Dark coat is best,” he advised. Jaskier nodded and concentrated. In a moment, he rose to all four feet and shook himself, giving his body a once over to make sure everything looked right. He looked up at Geralt and nodded to show he was ready. Geralt cracked the door and stooped as he went through. “Be careful, fluff,” he murmured, running his hand down Jaskier’s back. Jaskier arched and rubbed against him then darted through.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He darted from shadow to shadow, pausing often to listen for footsteps. He could easily hear the various members of the household staff going about their evening duties, but his first target was his father’s study. After dinner, he had always liked to drink something strong, and occasionally, in times of uproar, would bring Crichton in. With luck, his habit would hold true.</p><p>He made it to the study door unseen, and listened in. He couldn’t hear anything at all from inside, but in the distance, his father’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. With a fast look around to make sure he was alone, he dared to shift to human to open the door and slip inside before shifting back to a cat. He darted into and crouched there, hidden by shadows and the furniture in between himself and his father’s desk.</p><p>Less than a minute later his father entered and crossed to his desk. The scent of alcohol drifted to his nose as the sound of clinking glass and pouring liquid made it to his ears. A few minutes later the door opened again. The chair creaked as his father finally sat, and then once again alcohol was poured, this time for both of them.</p><p>“So what do you make of the little bastard?” his father began.</p><p>Crichton sighed. “He is both changed and not, my lord. He has developed a backbone but persists in his deviant ways. He required them <em>both</em> to be placed in the same room. The maids will report whether there are signs of, ah, undesirable activities when they clean in the morning. He threatened to dismiss me to make me answer their questions.”</p><p>Reginold grunted. “It would figure he would remember the least convenient laws. He accused me at dinner of being in league with Nilfgaard and arranging the murder of my own family! All so I could arrange a new marriage to some Nilfgaardian whore and get a new heir, securing my place amongst the coming new regime. As if Chandrelle would ever agree to such a scheme, even if I were inclined to it. Still,” he added, “it does show that he has <em>some</em> head for politics. If I were a less honorable man, it would be clever enough.”</p><p>“Was there any word of her ladyship in the day’s messages?” Crichton asked softly.</p><p>“Nothing. Nothing! She is gone from me, and I am left to deal with that boy – him! Of all my children to survive, it would have to be him. Still, if I can convince him to marry and make an heir, it will at least keep the title where it belongs. Once a child is born, I doubt it would take much to convince him to leave it with me, renounce his title and leave again. He’s always hated responsibility.”</p><p>“Even with his new backbone? I hate to say it, my lord, but should her ladyship not be returned to us…perhaps it would be wiser to take another wife for yourself. Some young thing, properly meek, who can be trained to stay in the background and get you a new heir. Better of <em>course</em> if her ladyship were returned to us! Her firm hand with the staff is sorely missed. If she came back, I’m sure she could provide you with a new heir. But if she’s not….”</p><p>“Even if Chandrelle is returned, she can’t give me a new heir. Are you mad? At her age?”</p><p>“As I understand such things, her age for her kind is not so advanced.”</p><p>Jaskier felt his ears flatten and then prick again. <em>They knew</em>.</p><p>“Even worse! If it were known that she’s not human, we could all be banished! The king is not fond of elves or mixed breeds. If his brother had survived to take the throne instead, that would be one thing. He was soft, easily led. Our king may have his weak spots, but he has never wavered in his hatred of non-humans.”</p><p>“But it isn’t outright illegal,” Crichton pointed out. “Such a move would alienate the Brotherhood. Too many of their kind have elven lineage. Not all, of course, but enough. He could pass no such laws without repercussions he would not want.”</p><p>“Even without such a law, we would lose all power at court. Our position is tenuous enough as it is, after the deaths. There are whispers that I have grown…feeble,” Reginold spat. “For failing to protect my family. I need that boy to marry for more than one reason. If I cannot bind Niko to me again, then he will ally with another. The strongest candidate is Canston – he’s always hated this family. If they were to form an alliance, we would be crushed.”</p><p>“I’m sure you will find a way. Perhaps the king’s prejudice could be useful. If the boy <strong>is</strong> fornicating with the witcher as he’s implied, then telling the king that the witcher has ensorcelled the boy….” Crichton trailed off delicately.</p><p>“It’s a thought. The threat would be more useful than the doing. Niko may not be inclined to the marriage if that were made known, even if we were able to drive the witcher out. To bind his daughter to one so tainted, under our king, would cause him to lose some influence at court. Still, strengthening our alliance again could well be enough to offset that. Damn it all anyway!” a fist pounded the desk. “Could those bastards not have left even <em>one</em> alive? Even the girl child could have been useful! Niko’s middle son apparently likes younglings, we could have worked with that.”</p><p>Jaskier wanted to gag. Even knowing how power hungry and ruthlessly coldhearted his father was, he had not imagined he could be depraved enough to send his granddaughter into the hands of a monster. And there he was, regretting the missed opportunity.</p><p>“You will gain control of the boy. Perhaps if we sent the witcher on some sort of contract. They love money – they say it’s the only thing they <em>do</em> love. Without that one hulking over his shoulder, I’m sure he’ll be more pliable. Although a bit of flattery might not go amiss. We <em>have</em> heard of ‘Jaskier’, apparently he has actually made a name for himself. Certainly he has played his little twiddles in some impressive households. Those connections may also prove useful.”</p><p>“I suppose if he had to throw his life away on something so frivolous, at least he was good at it,” Reginold grumbled. “Bah, enough. I am tired. Report to me what the maids find in the room tomorrow. Proof of degeneracy would strengthen our position.”</p><p>“Of course, my lord. Rest well, if you can.”</p><p>“It would make a nice change.”</p><p>Reginold left. After collecting the dirty glasses and blowing out the candles, Crichton followed him out. Tail now free to lash with the swirling mix of nausea and rage in his gut, Jaskier crept out of his hiding spot and up to the door. He listened closely but heard no sounds. His heart still sped up in his chest as he shifted back in order to open the door. He peeked around the door and found the hallway darkened and empty. Quick as a wink, he slithered through the door and shifted again – he was definitely going to need a big breakfast. The more dramatic size changes still took it out of him.</p><p>He crept down to the kitchens and found the staff still sitting around the table finishing their much later supper. There was little talk, until Crichton entered. “Doreen, Ilsa, you are to clean the largest guest room in the morning, where his lordship’s youngest son is staying. Report anything unusual or unnatural that you find.”</p><p>The two maids in question shifted uneasily. “Sir, the <em>witcher</em> is staying in there. <strong>He’s</strong> unnatural. Everyone knows they carry odd potions and such around.”</p><p>Crichton’s face grew stern. “It is not your place to question me. Do as you’re told. Some of you were already questioned by them about the night of the Tragedy. No doubt the rest of you will be as well. You are to answer questions only about that day and night. They have no need to know anything else about the Family. <strong>If</strong> the witcher manages to find the blackguards who committed the atrocity, the witcher will be paid and sent on his way. But as this was a human crime and not some unnatural monster, I doubt that he will be of any use. Most likely, the boy has simply hired him as a show of good faith after being gone for so long and missing the funerals. We need not entertain this foolishness for long.” With a final stern glare around, he vanished back the way he’d come.</p><p>The two maids traded looks, and the younger one started to sniffle. “Why us? What if we touch something and the witcher blasts us across the room with his magics? What if he cuts off our heads!”</p><p>The older one just humphed. “Bah. We have no need of touching the potions. I was cleaning outside his lordship’s study today when the boy was talking to him. He said that he won’t marry, as he’s bound to the witcher for life. <em>That’s</em> what his lordship wants to know – if they play stallion and mare behind closed doors. It’d be grounds to disinherit him. I’ll change the sheets, Ilsa, don’t you fear. You just dust and clean the hearth.”</p><p>Ilsa gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, Doreen. I hope this nasty business ends soon – I’ve been so frightened since it happened! And now with a witcher here, in the house itself.” She shivered dramatically. “It’s an ill omen. Do you think the boy had something to do with it all? He’s gone for years and years. Her ladyship gets a mysterious visitor with news about him, and then just under a year later, she goes missing and all the proper heirs get murdered in their beds?”</p><p>One of the men snorted derisively. “Don’t be dense, Ilsa. He’s a <em>bard</em>. Where would he get the coin to hire a magic assassin?”</p><p>“You keep saying magic, but that’s nonsense. Why would any of the Brotherhood be willing to harm this family?” someone asked.</p><p>The man rolled his eyes. “Look, it had to be magic of some kind. The house was locked up. None of the doors had been tampered with. No one heard or saw anything – it had to be magic. And the boy would never have the coin to hire someone like that. if he were really any good, he would have taken a post in some court somewhere.”</p><p>“But he follows that witcher around everywhere, has for years. Most of his most popular songs are about him,” someone else pointed out. “If he took up a post, he couldn’t do that anymore and folk would get bored. For all we know, he’s got loads stashed away.”</p><p>“Even if he did, I doubt it was him. Why wouldn’t he kill his lordship, too? His lordship is young enough to take another wife and get more heirs.”</p><p>“But only if he can get her ladyship declared dead, and there was no blood in her room. Not a drop! Only thing odd was her open window, but the snow was undisturbed, so she didn’t fall. No body, no blood, no sign of violence.” The speaker shook her head. “The court won’t declare her dead for some years yet, and by the time they do, he’ll be too old.”</p><p>“So he takes a mistress, gets himself a new heir, and when the time comes, marries the chit to legitimize the child. With the boy spending more than twenty years away, with only a handful of visits home in all that time, it’d be an easy case of dereliction of duty to make. Hell, his lordship could choose one of his nephews if need be to do the same thing. From the temper of his lordship after dinner, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were considering it.”</p><p>“One of his nephews? Don’t be daft, they’re all as soft as the boy! Spoiled, the lot of them,” someone scoffed.</p><p>“Enough!” An older man at the head of the table snapped. Jaskier thought he recognized him – was high ranking in the household guards when he’d been home last. From the way the others jumped and then ducked their heads, he had probably climbed higher. “This speculation is pointless. His lordship will make the best decision for the family and the title, as he has always done.  Witchers are neutral. Always. If he’s helping to investigate, then he will share his conclusions with his lordship, regardless of what they might be. He gets paid no matter the outcome. If the boy had something to do with it, then that will become known. More likely, it has been too long for even a witcher to find anything, they will poke about for a few days, he’ll collect his coin and be on his way. What happens with the boy will be up to his father. Now, you’ve all finished. Go about your business, it’ll be a long day tomorrow.” He rose, leaving his dishes on the table, and stomped out. His word appeared to hold almost as much weight as Crichton’s, as the rest of the staff left the table, though the majority took care of their own dishes.</p><p>Jaskier crept out while they were all busy, ducking around a corner to avoid the footsteps of the quickest. When the hallway was clear, he raced back up the stairs to the guest quarters. Geralt clearly heard him coming and cracked the door as Jaskier reached it. He made sure the door was locked behind him before he shifted back. Geralt caught him as he wobbled a little, anger and fatigue making him a little clumsier after the shift than he’d become of late. Geralt steered him to the bed and drew a blanket around his shoulders to ward off a chill while he relayed everything he’d overheard. Geralt dismissed the possible threat to himself, as Jaskier expected. He was <em>more</em> interested in the fact that the servants were speculating so much. Usually servants, always present and almost always treated like wall hangings, knew everything about a household. All the secrets. As Crichton had apparently known his parents’.</p><p>“He knew your mother’s true heritage. If he gets too insistent on trying to threaten us, we can simply point out that we can tell the king he knowingly married and had children with a non-human and intended for one to inherit. The prejudice will work both ways,” Geralt explained. “No, I’m more interested in what the servants were saying. <strong>If </strong>any of them saw anything, they’re not sharing. Which means they either think it’s nothing, or they think it will get them in trouble for knowing. If your father had anything to do with either the murders or your mother’s disappearance, and a servant had evidence of that, what would he do?”</p><p>“He’d have them killed. No hesitation. Geralt, he would have been willing to sell my youngest niece to a – a <em>child rapist</em> for the sake of alliance and status,” Jaskier said flatly. “I no longer believe there is a depth to which he would not sink.”</p><p>Geralt rubbed his back comfortingly, which was nice, although it didn’t help much. Just knowing he was related to such an evil prick was stomach churning. How ever this played out, he wanted to make sure his father lost all his power, over anyone, for the rest of his miserable life.</p><p>“We’ll see what the outside staff have to say. For now, just wait here. I’m going down to the kitchen to get you some food – I can hear your stomach.” He frowned a little. “You shifted more than once, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Cats don’t have hands to open doors, love. I shifted a couple times to get in and out of father’s study,” Jaskier admitted freely. “And hearing my stomach is hardly impressive, witcher-mine – a deaf man could! Not up to your usual enhanced standards.”</p><p>“Brat.” Geralt pressed a quick kiss to his lips and left. He returned with remarkable swiftness with a plate piled high with meat and vegetables left over from dinner. It was cold, naturally, but Jaskier was for once hungry enough not to care. He devoured the lot and felt loads better, at least physically. He wasn’t sure he would feel truly better until this nasty business were wrapped up, and hopefully his father left in ruin in its wake. Truly, his uncle would be a better choice for the title. Jaskier had met him only rarely, at important occasions where the entire extended family were required, but his uncle had seemed jovial and intelligent, his children fairly happy. He couldn’t picture his uncle bothering with the schemes his father seemed to love so much.</p><p>Geralt took his empty plate and set it outside the door. When he closed it again, he paused for a moment, then placed his hand on the door. An odd blue haze spread over it. When he turned back and saw Jaskier watching, he smiled slightly. “A shield. It’s more often used to protect our bodies, but it can be used to seal entrances and such if need be. The servants will not get in. I’ll seal the door again when we leave tomorrow – we need not worry about any <em>evidence</em> they might find until it is no longer a concern.”</p><p>Jaskier held out his hands, beckoning him closer. Geralt obliged and got close enough for Jaskier to wind his arms around his waist and rest his chin on his belly, gazing up at him. “I don’t care if they know. You know that, right? I told father –“</p><p>“Yes. I know. But it’s a distraction we do not need. And the bit of magic will likely unsettle them, and someone who is rattled will give away more than they intend.” Geralt carded his fingers through his hair, rubbing a bit behind his ears. Jaskier felt his eyes go heavy lidded, and if he’d still been feline, he would have started purring. “Lie down. I’ll join you in a moment,” he promised. He stepped away to remove his armor. When he was down to smallclothes and loose shirt, he placed his steel sword next to the bed and went to bank the fire for the night. When he rose, he seemed to reconsider, and went to the window to place the same shield over it as he had the door. Jaskier smiled – he’d climbed <em>out</em> of too many windows to not realize that someone could climb <em>in</em> as well. When he finally joined Jaskier in the large, plush bed, Jaskier wasted no time in sprawling himself over his lover’s chest. After what they had seen in the suites, he wasn’t in the mood for lovemaking, but there was no where that he felt safer than curled up with Geralt’s arms around him. It was probably the only thing that would allow him to sleep after the day they’d had. With Geralt’s fingers trailing languidly up and down his back and that lovely clove scent in his nose, he was able to close his eyes and drift into sleep.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt did <em>not</em> sleep. Though in theory he and Jaskier should be safe enough under what was essentially Jaskier’s own roof, their reception had made it clear they were not in the house of friends. Even more, he was still uncertain as to the identity and motive of the killers. It was entirely possible that whoever it was had learned that the last remaining heir had returned, and they could well decide to return and finish what appeared to be their mission of wiping out every conceivable heir to the family title – or rather, every heir from Reginold’s direct line. He had heard nothing of the uncle having suffered a similar fate. That made it personal, and when it was personal, humans could justify the otherwise unthinkable. If their questioning the next day didn’t turn up any viable clues, they would have to go through the papers in the father’s study. If he kept any details of his machinations written, it would be found in there and that could give them someone to look at.</p><p>Rather than sleep, he put himself into a light meditation to keep himself fresh. It was fortunate that he did, as Jaskier’s sleep was not peaceful. How could it be? As worldly as his lover was, this horror hit him directly. Not only by the deaths of his siblings, but the deaths of the children as well. Maybe the children in particular. He didn’t know why the old man had not allowed the rooms to be cleaned, but he’d wanted to usher Jaskier out as soon as the stench hit them. But he had known that would be futile to even try. As he now slept, fear and grief seeped from his pores as his dreaming mind no doubt brought every gruesome blood spatter and stench back to relive. Geralt roused as the first hints of distress began, as attuned to his lover’s scent as he was to his own. He resumed rubbing his back and murmured reassurances until the scents receded and Jaskier’s sleep settled into something more peaceful.</p><p>He had to repeat the process several times through the night as the dreams (nightmares) returned again and again. When morning finally arrived, he could tell that Jaskier was not far from waking for good. He left the bed only long enough to build the fire back up and place the large pitcher of water that had been left for them on the hearth to warm. Then he slid back beneath the blankets so that Jaskier would not wake alone.</p><p>Some twenty or so minutes later, Jaskier roused fully, blinking sleep encrusted eyes around them in confusion. The confusion faded quickly to a grim resignation as he remembered where they were and why. As always, that gaze lightened to something bright and affectionate when they fastened on Geralt’s face. Jaskier reached up to trail light fingers over his morning stubble, lips curved in a faint smile. “Morning, witcher-mine.”</p><p>Geralt pulled him up a bit for a light kiss, not minding in the least the slight sourness of his lover’s mouth. “Morning, fluff. How do you feel?”</p><p>“Both hungry and nauseous,” Jaskier confessed. He tucked his face into Geralt’s neck. “Thank you,” he added softly. “I would not have slept near as much or as well as I did without you.”</p><p>“You did not sleep all that well,” Geralt pointed out a little guiltily. He should have insisted Jaskier not accompany him at all to the suites, even when they’d thought them clean. The rooms alone would have added vivid details to already vivid nightmares. Reeking like a charnel house and covered in gore had just made it a hundred times worse for his lover’s already overactive imagination.</p><p>“Better than I would have without you. As I am now, I may not fear my father any longer. But in dreams, especially under this roof, I am a child again. What we saw yesterday was only part of my nightmares. My dreams were only about three quarters what we saw yesterday. The rest were memories of the last time my father was so enraged at me.” Geralt felt the lingering kiss Jaskier pressed to his pulse. “But these days, my witcher is right there to chase away the monsters of my dreams.”</p><p>“I would keep them away entirely, if I could.”</p><p>“I know. I fear that such a feat would require a djinn’s magic – and we know those don’t turn out well at all.” Another kiss. “Don’t worry, love. When this is over, they will fade. They did when I was younger, and that was before you. I’m certain they will fade even quicker at your side.”</p><p>Geralt shifted to lay covering his bard, wishing it could be enough to banish the images entirely, right then and there. But although Jaskier hummed contentedly and went boneless beneath him, there was  no hint of arousal that meant that Jaskier was completely distracted from their unpleasant situation. He could almost certainly rouse his lover if he put his mind to it, but just his simple presence seemed what his lover wanted. Perhaps if their day was a little more fruitful, he would be able to distract his bard with lips and tongue and send him into a more pleasant sleep that night.</p><p>They were pulled from their embrace and warm bed by a knock, not on the sealed door, but on the wall beside it. Geralt climbed out of the bed as Jaskier groaned. He pulled the hangings of the bed shut before he moved to unseal the door and open it. Outside it, two serving women stood, laden with a breakfast tray and fresh linens and cleaning supplies. Geralt took the food but blocked their entrance. “This room is off limits while we are staying here,” he told them, letting his voice deepen to just on the edge of threatening. Jaskier was worried about repercussions to <em>him</em> if the old bastard tried to make good on his threat to use the crown’s prejudice against them. He could not remove every source of stress from Jaskier’s life, but where he could, he would do what he could to ease them. Preventing the staff from entering would hobble Reginold’s ability to use that particular threat, so he would keep the staff out.</p><p>The older of the two women scowled at him. “We don’t take orders from you,” she told him. “We will do the jobs we’ve been assigned. Step to the side, witcher.”</p><p>Geralt simply scowled, eyes narrowed in threat. The younger squeaked and fear scent started to rise from them both. “No.” He stepped back and pulled the door shut before either could get a foot inside. He resealed the door and heard muttered prayers start up on the other side.</p><p>“Well, <em>that</em> should certainly stir the hornets’ nest,” Jaskier observed, laughter in his voice. Geralt set the tray of food on the table as Jaskier swung his legs out of bed.</p><p>“Good,” Geralt grunted. He uncovered all the food and began to sniff each dish carefully to make sure no poisons or drugs had been added. Too many poisons could look like an ordinary sickness, and if the old man at the head of the family decided Jaskier was too difficult to control, he wouldn’t not put it past him to resort to such methods. The food was so far untainted, so he served them each up a plate, though Jaskier’s was piled rather higher than was normal. His lover needed to keep up his strength, if he was going to be using his shifting to help them.</p><p>Jaskier, beautifully nude, joined him at the table to eat. They ate quietly for a time, though Geralt found his appetite waning as the salt of grief rose subtly from Jaskier once again. He tried to be covert as he studied his lover, noting the tightness around his eyes and the stoic manner that he shoveled food into his mouth. Obviously Jaskier’s thoughts had returned to his murdered family, but there was precious little Geralt could do to provide him with any ease. In theory, they could simply walk away, counting on their nomadic lifestyle to keep Jaskier out of possible danger, but life was a bitch and it always caught up with you no matter how hard you tried. From a practical standpoint, they were doing the best thing they could. Geralt just wished he could do it himself, with Jaskier safely tucked away at Kaer Morhen, but it was painfully obvious that he would not have gotten a foot inside the door without Jaskier playing the arrogant, entitled highborn, snapping out threats and orders even as the doing made misery rise from his skin. He had picked up a couple instances of satisfaction, which he could not begrudge his lover – he was still learning details, but what he’d already learned was that Jaskier had been born his irrepressible, happy self, with a love of stories and music and beautiful things, and those traits had gotten him routinely beaten. If he took some satisfaction now from annoying his abusers, Geralt would count them lucky – if Jaskier only asked it of him, he would happily kill the lot.</p><p>Once their food was finished, Jaskier dressed himself with slow hands, clearly reluctant and distracted. Geralt efficiently donned his boots and armor and waited for him by the door. When Jaskier joined him, ready for the day, Geralt pulled him close for a long, lingering kiss. Some of the tension that had coiled his shoulders eased a little, which Geralt would count as a win. When Jaskier straightened himself, he gifted Geralt a wobbly little smile before his face transformed into the aloof mask he wasn’t even sure Jaskier realized he’d been wearing every moment outside of their room. Geralt nodded and opened the doors, giving a cold look at the two maids still standing there. He pointedly shut the door behind Jaskier and resealed it. The wash of blue as the shield shimmered back into place made both women look rather sickly pale, and with the younger especially, that look didn’t fade much once the initial flash settled into the more subtle shimmer.</p><p>“My lord, I must protest,” the older woman said, strident. “Crichton has ordered us to tend to your room.”</p><p>“And I am ordering you not to try. You won’t get in past the shield,” Jaskier told them. “I do not want <em>any</em> of you touching our belongings.”</p><p>“But our orders - !”</p><p>“I am countering those orders. Now, do you wish to keep arguing and find yourself out of a post, or do you want to go find something more productive to do?”</p><p>“Sir, I have worked here for more than twenty years!”</p><p>Jaskier squinted at her. “Yes, I think I remember you from when I was young,” he said softly. He frowned. “I seem to recall it was you that informed my parents that I had snuck a sweet out of the kitchen. Do you recall what the result of that was? Because <strong>I </strong>remember.”</p><p>She blanched a bit. “Well, sir, I – I was only following the master’s orders, I am ever obedient,” she started to babble.</p><p>“Then be obedient. Remember who is heir now – and if you wish to have a hope of even scrubbing chamber pots when I inherit, you will do as I tell you. Geralt, did we question either of these two yesterday?”</p><p>Geralt stirred, drawing both women’s eyes back to him. “No. As they have nothing else assigned to them, now seems a good time.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded to him, so Geralt ran through the list of their questions. The answers were no more helpful than anyone else’s had been, although that almost seemed telling in itself. When he finally dismissed the women so they could venture outside, he could tell something was brewing in the back of his mind, combining the scant information they’d been able to glean so far. He just needed a bit more for whatever it was to become clear.</p><p>They talked to the guards first, and found that the shitty efforts currently in effect were actually an improvement on what had been the standard. Previously, only one guard at a time manned the single gate into the grounds, but no one bothered the patrol the laughable wall that surrounded the place. Though the number of guards had increased, they had still not thought to add any patrols. There were no dogs on the ground, as the family hadn’t approved of any animals being kept beyond the horses and a few hawks used for ‘hunting’ by the family.</p><p>They moved to the stables and spoke with the stable master first. He was an older man of around fifty, with roughened hands and little apparent patience for humans. He could tell them that nothing had disturbed him, or the horses, that night, and he’d found no trace of hoof prints not belonging to the horses he cared for the next day.</p><p>Geralt could hear the rabbit-quick heartbeat of someone hiding nearby, and from the scent in the place, it likely belonged to one of two young men, barely into their teens. Jaskier followed his gaze to the closed but empty stall that the sound came from and pushed by the stable master, ignoring the gruff protest. Jaskier opened the door and looked down. His expression softened into something similar to the look he wore for Ciri, and he crouched. “Hello there. I believe you were the one that led our horses to the stable when we arrived,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you show me where you put them up and tell me how they’ve been?”</p><p>A young man that Geralt seemed to recall both from the previous day as well as their abbreviated visit the year prior hesitantly stood up. His eyes were wide in his head and kept flicking nervously towards the stable master. “No need to worry, he can’t be upset with you for doing as the heir of the family tells you. Show us our horses, hmm?” Jaskier coaxed.</p><p>Geralt followed at a small distance as the boy led them deeper into the stables. Roach voiced a welcome when she caught sight of them, and Rascal tossed his head in welcome. The hay in their stalls was clean and fresh, their oats half full and clean water readily available. Geralt had no complaints on their care, at least.</p><p>Jaskier listened attentively as the boy detailed all that had been done since they’d arrived, which amounted to a whole lot of grooming and apples provided. Jaskier nodded approvingly and slipped a coin into the boy’s hand. “Well done. These horses have seen us through some frightening things, they deserve all the pampering you’ve given them,” he praised. “Why, Rascal and Roach saved me from a ghoul attack once! Such smelly things you’ve never encountered, with a bite that would poison your blood if they could but sink their teeth into you! They’re loyal and reliable – like you, I would wager.”</p><p>“Yes sir, m’lord. I work hard,” the boy promised. “Twas a good chance for me, getting this post. I swear, I’m loyal as they come.”</p><p>“Good lad. Now, I want you to think back, if you can. Think back to when the Tragedy happened. A young, hard working lad like you, I bet you check on the horses at night. Now, I know Bertram there didn’t hear anything, and nothing upset the horses, but can <em>you</em> remember anything, anything at all, that was unusual that night? Even if it seems silly, we’d like to know.”</p><p>“Well….” Anxiety and guilt radiated from the boy and his eyes darted nervously to the stable master. Geralt stepped between them and made an effort to soften his expression. The boy licked his lips. “It’s silly, like you said. But. I was up to get a drink of water and check the horses was sleeping sound, and I noticed something odd.”</p><p>“Go on,” Jaskier encouraged.</p><p>“Well, I saw cats. Sir. The Family don’t hold with cats, we keep the food cleaned up and secure so’s we don’t get mice, so we don’t ever have cats round here. Sometimes a stray’ll show up, but we’re under orders to chase ‘em off or kill ‘em if they don’t run. Ain’t ever seen more than one at a time, and I saw like three or four running across the grounds. Was only a crescent moon, but they stood out against the snow.”</p><p>That something finally clicked in Geralt’s mind. He moved to crouch beside Jaskier. “Were they running to or from the house?” he asked quietly.</p><p>The boy started but answered willingly enough. “Towards, sir witcher. I thought maybe it was a mum and her kittens running from something, but nothing chased after them that I could see.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it, ‘cept I remember hoping they’d just move on so’s we wouldn’t have to take care of them – I don’t like having to get rid of the strays that show up. Seems mean, killing something so little just for wanting a warm place to sleep, but orders is orders.”</p><p>“Did you mention it to anyone else?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>“Sure did! When we heard ‘bout what happened, and the lord’s men came and asked about anything weird like you did, I told them just the same. Not that I want to waste anyone’s time, but what if they was witched somehow, right? Like, witched so someone could look through their eyes or something? You hear all sorts of things in the stories and songs. But they said it was nothing.” He looked down, scuffing a very worn boot into the straw. “Sorry if I wasted your time, your lordship, but it’s the only odd thing that happened around here before the Tragedy, ‘cept for the strange lady that visited with the witcher a year ago.”</p><p>“I know her,” Jaskier told him. “She had a message from me for my mother, no longer of any importance. You have a good memory,” he praised, and passed the boy another coin.</p><p>Geralt added a coin from his own purse as well, and nodded approvingly. The boy lit up, though dimmed a bit when he looked over Geralt’s shoulder at where the stable master still stood. Jaskier caught the look as well and gave the man a warning look. “I trust this young man won’t be taken to task for doing exactly as he should,” Jaskier told him coldly. “He can apply to me at any time for help if he is, and I <em>will</em> be checking on him.”</p><p>“It was a bit of a waste of time, my lord, but it was your time to waste. If you’ve no objections to hearing such useless observations, I have none either.”</p><p>“Not useless,” Jaskier said softly. “There’s more to the world than you know, and sometimes the stories are right.”</p><p>Geralt escorted Jaskier out of the stable, feeling the eyes boring into their backs the whole way. “We must speak with your father again,” he said once they were out of earshot.</p><p>“Must we?” Jaskier said unhappily, but changed direction to head back into the house. “I wasn’t wrong, was I? The kid did give us something useful?”</p><p>“Yes, I think he did. Let’s see what your father has to say.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They found the man once more ensconced in his study, this time squinting unhappily at a piece of parchment. He threw it down with a scowl when they walked in and shut and locked the door behind themselves. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “I am busy! Go play at your investigation elsewhere and leave me to try to salvage our family in peace!”</p><p>Jaskier sprawled insolently in a chair as he had the day before. Geralt wasn’t sure he understood the significance of the gesture, but it was clear the old man did – and he didn’t like it one bit. Geralt chose to remain standing. “What do you know of Jaskier’s mother?” he asked softly.</p><p>“I – what? She’s my wife! What are you implying?”</p><p>“I have implied nothing. I have asked a question. What do you know of her? Her family, her bloodline?”</p><p>“She is from a noble line from Cidaris, a youngest sister, but noble all the same,” he blustered.</p><p>“No. Stop lying.” Geralt tapped his nose. “I can tell when humans lie.”</p><p>Reginold gaped and then his mouth twisted in disgust. “Foul, unnatural thing,” he said. Geralt just stared at him. “That is what she told me.”</p><p>“No. No she didn’t,” Jaskier said, eyes flicking briefly over Geralt. “That may be the story you both concocted to tell others, and she stayed in the background enough that I doubt anyone really cared enough to question it, but that’s not where she was from, and she would never have told you that. You know she wasn’t human.”</p><p>“How dare you! How dare you suggest – “</p><p>“Oh, shut the fuck up, father.” The profanity seemed to shock the man into silence. “I travel with a witcher. I rub elbows with nobility, royalty, and all kinds – including mages. Did you think no one would notice my lack of aging and wonder? Look at me, I don’t look a day over twenty. It isn’t a glamour, it’s the fact that I’m half elf. And I know you know about it. Perhaps not at the beginning, but somewhere along the way, you found out.”</p><p>“So what? So what if she <strong>is</strong> elven? Under the old king and his eldest son, there would have been no problem for our family because of it, and the odds of one of you coming out with magic would have given us a foothold with the Brotherhood – though you all disappointed us greatly in that regard. The increased lifespan would have strengthened our hold for decades, even generations to come! And being related to the ruling family from the Forest gave us an invaluable alliance.”</p><p>“Is that what she told you? Or did you just assume?”</p><p>“Of <em>course</em> it gave us an alliance – that is the strongest method for building alliances! Even you must grasp that.”</p><p>Geralt shook his head. “So she failed to mention that her people are xenophobic in the extreme? That they, and even she, regard humans as a plague, and any children of mixed blood would <em>not</em> be acknowledged by them at all?”</p><p>“What are you talking about? Chandrelle didn’t think that way. She gave birth to six mixed children! Noble from my line, royal from hers – mostly sons! We were poised, through alliances and longevity, to take control of this country.”</p><p>“No. She lied to you. We met her brother, the king. If not for an unbreakable oath that Jaskier wrung from him, the entire clan would have kept chasing us and dying by my blade in their efforts to cleanse the bloodline,” Geralt told him implacably. “We spoke to Chandrelle a year ago – Jaskier inherited her clan’s gift of shapeshifting. We attempted to get information on how to control it from her. Her plan was to take back their old territory, by breeding half breeds if necessary, until they had sufficient strength to drive out the full humans. Except we spoke to their king. She could give us nothing about the shapeshifting, so we went to the source. Both your wife and her brother were very clear in their hatred of humans. And I suspect it was they who killed your children and grandchildren.”</p><p>Jaskier flinched when he said it – he had not let himself think that far, make that connection until then, content to follow Geralt’s lead. The stench of guilt that rose from him almost overwhelmed Geralt, but it was not the time to address it. Reginold was staring in shock, all pretensions gone for the moment. “What – what are you. That <em>can’t</em> be. She would not have risked our children, our grandchildren, and all that we were building on them!”</p><p>“I don’t think she believed that we would seek out her clan,” Jaskier said softly. “She made sure to tell me that they would not help me, that they would reject me because I refused to obey your plans for me, was disloyal to family.”</p><p>“Why would they wait so long? If they are as you say, why wait a year to kill them? They would have done it long ago,” Reginold argued.</p><p>Geralt shook his head. “No. They didn’t know where she had gone, nor that she’d born half human children. Not until we told them. We didn’t tell them where Jaskier was from, nor even his real name, so it took them some time to track down their wayward clan member. It’s what confused me about the scents in the suites,” he explained, this time to Jaskier alone. “I could tell that everyone there was related to you, but the confusing part was the number of distinct scents. Your siblings and their children, their scents were soaked into the wood and fabric. But there were fainter traces of others, full blood elves that are related to you.” Jaskier nodded. “It didn’t click, until the boy mentioned the cats. You choose a version of that form often – big cat for threats, small for sneaking about unseen. I think they flew here, and changed form to sneak in. They couldn’t exactly fly down a chimney, not with all the fires lit. And it is not difficult to brush a single set of footprints out of snow – no way to track your mother’s footprints when they took her back.”</p><p>“You think she’s still alive?”</p><p>“I think it’s possible. She’s full blood, and royal. Royals rarely receive a death penalty.” Jaskier nodded again, jaw tight.</p><p>“This is all preposterous! She wouldn’t have allowed her own family to kill her family,” Reginold insisted, sounding desperate.</p><p>“What choice would she have had? She had no magic of her own, that ability to shapeshift passed her by. She would have chosen to save her own skin if it was that or death, and you know it,” Jaskier snapped. “She was too much like you.”</p><p>Reginold gaped, angry, for a few moments more. But whatever else he was, he was still quick witted. He had schemed throughout his whole life, and learned to create advantages where none had been before. He rallied.</p><p>“Well. Perhaps that is so. Yet all is not lost. You have an unbreakable oath from the king himself that your life is spared. You can still be of use. Julian, you inherited her long life, the ability to change your shape at will! Think of the secrets you can accumulate, the power you could wield! I will guide you. We can save our family, our legacy! If you would only give up this foolish bard business, you could be of more use to the family than any of your siblings ever were!”</p><p>Geralt felt the rage, colder than the depths of winter, suffuse him. His hand went to his sword, but Jaskier was quicker. He stood and punched his father in one swift move, sending the old man sprawling to the floor. “Fuck you,” he snarled, fingernails scratching the wooden desk beneath his hands. “Sixteen people are dead, six of them children! <em>You would have sold the youngest to a baby raper if she had lived!</em> I will do everything in my power to make sure you are ruined!”</p><p>“What power?” Reginold scoffed. “Your witcher? He can only kill me – and you both would be bound for the headsman’s axe if he did! You are nothing but an itinerant bard, no home, no wealth, nothing! What, will you sing nasty songs about me? Grow up, boy! The only power you will ever hold is whatever <strong>I </strong>choose to give you!”</p><p>Jaskier then shifted, but in a way Geralt had neither seen nor imagined. Thick fur sprouted over visible skin. His ears went pointed, his eyes elongated, and the whole of his face took on a decidedly feline cast, as though some mage had managed to splice together a cat with a man – or cursed him, as the long dead Duny had once been cursed to resemble a hedgehog. “We shall see what power I have,” Jaskier promised, voice garbled as it emerged around altered teeth, nails now turned to claws creating even deeper rents in the wood. Reginold shoved himself against the wall at his back, terror now spilling from his pores. He was chalk white, and as Jaskier bared his teeth in a rather terrifying snarl, the scent of urine flooded the room as he pissed himself. Jaskier turned his back and stalked out. He had no tail, but Geralt knew that if he did, it would be lashing furiously.</p><p>Jaskier did not let his partial shift fade back to human as he stalked through the hallways, provoking screams and more of that terror scent as he was seen by the various staff on their way back to their room. Geralt removed the shield from the door as Jaskier reached it and slammed through. Once inside with the door closed behind them again, Jaskier finally let the shift fade, though he was no less angry. “We are going to see my uncle,” he said shortly, shoving those few things that they’d unpacked back into their bags.</p><p>“Alright,” Geralt agreed. He felt helpless in the wake of the towering fury coming from his lover, greater, it seemed, than even his fury at Yennefer at her attempted enchantment. He followed him back out of the room and down the stairs, out to the stables. Servants fled from the sight of them, though Jaskier appeared once more fully human. Word would have spread quickly.</p><p>They saddled the horses and mounted, and then Jaskier paused. The helpful stable boy was huddling against the door, pale and wide eyed with fear. “If you want a job in a decent household, you should come with us. My uncle is <em>nothing</em> like my bastard of a father,” Jaskier bit out. The boy looked back and forth between them, and when Geralt held a hand down to him, hesitantly took it and let Geralt pull him up to the saddle behind himself.</p><p>They rode west, pushing the horses, though not to their fullest speed. By midafternoon, they crested a rise and were within site of another large, sprawling manor house, this one with a proper wall around it manned by guards at intervals. Jaskier rode straight for it and pulled up short at the gate, Rascal’s sides heaving and sweat soaked. “I am Julian Alfred Pankratz and I <strong>will</strong> speak with my uncle,” he said shortly.</p><p>The guards traded looks, but quickly opened the gate to let them through. Two followed them with hands on their swords and eyes wary. Someone had seen them coming, and more guards were waiting for them as they approached the house. It wasn’t quite as large as the family seat, but it was impressive enough. Geralt could also see this one was managed with an eye towards the practical – a greenhouse full of vegetables rather than flowers, chickens in a well kept coop, and even pigs, though the smell of them was thankfully minimized by the distance they were kept from the main grounds. Jaskier swung out of the saddle and began to bull forward as a pair of stable hands approached to take the horses.</p><p>Geralt helped the boy down and paused only long enough to instruct, “This lad knows our horses well. Take his lead with them.” He produced a few coins to go around, then strode in to catch up with Jaskier.</p><p>He made it in time to see an older man, strongly resembling Reginold, descended the stairs in the main hall with a look of naked astonishment. “Julian? Melitele’s thighs, boy, it has been decades since I last saw you! What’s brought you here in such a state?”</p><p>“Father,” Jaskier spat. The man’s face grew grim.</p><p>“Come. We’ll speak in my study.” He turned on his heel and led them right back up the stairs and into a study crammed with books and scrolls, obviously used rather than for show. Plush, well worn seating was ranged in the middle of the room, with a jumbled desk in the corner by the window. The man poured three glasses of wine and passed two over to them. “I’m Vilhem Pankrats, Julian’s uncle on his father’s side.”</p><p>“Geralt. Of Rivia,” he added, in case his name had not reached the man’s ears before.</p><p>“Ah, the famous White Wolf! Only this time you have followed my nephew rather than the other way around. Has Reg gone and involved himself in some dark magic, covered up the presence of a monster of some kind in the woods around the family estate? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Oh, worse, uncle,” Jaskier said softly. He drained his glass in three huge gulps and began to pace. The story spilled out of him, vague on the details of <em>why</em> he’d had his form changed for him, but with nothing hidden beyond that. Vilhem’s face grew grimmer and grimmer as he spoke, and he moved to refill all their glasses more than once.</p><p>When Jaskier finally finished, Vilhem sat himself down in one of the chairs and gestured for Geralt and Jaskier to do the same. He shot a wry look at Geralt. “What monsters you must think us,” he said. “Reginold was raised in the image of our father. If mother had been allowed more influence…but we’ll never know. I, fortunately, was ignored for the most part, and so I think I turned out the better. At least, I would not dream of using and sacrificing <em>anyone</em> as Reginold did. What is it you propose to do, Julian? You came here with purpose.”</p><p>“I want us to go to the king,” Jaskier said flatly. “The title should be yours, and passed down to one of your children. They’re far better than any of us, and would do good with it.”</p><p>“Don’t say such a thing, Julian. You are nothing like your parents – do not lump yourself in with that lot,” Vilhem said sharply.</p><p>“Am I? My neglect when we demanded that oath left my siblings and their children dead. I thought only of mine and Geralt’s safety, nothing else! How is that not as selfish as what they have done?”</p><p>“Not selfish, Julian – a bit naïve, perhaps, but that is no crime. What right thinking person would believe that anyone could slaughter sixteen people, including children, for the crime of being born to the wrong parents?”</p><p>“I could,” Geralt admitted. “I have seen similar things in my life – lost someone to a similar obsession. I should have seen it, but I didn’t. I cared only for Jaskier’s safety. This is my fault.”</p><p>“Oh gods, not both of you!” Vilhelm slammed his cup down on the low table and leaned forward. “Listen to me, both of you. This monstrous thing belongs to the ones who did it. And to Chandrelle, who had to know the reaction her people would have to learning of the children she’d born. She should have warned you, and did not. She should have warned Reginold and your siblings of the possible danger, and did not. From the sounds of it, she expected you to be killed once they learned of your mixed blood and likely thought no more of it. The fault for this crime lies on many heads. Not either of yours for simply trying to find answers to a truly puzzling question about your nature and abilities. You had a right to that knowledge that she denied you, that they all would have denied you. You made an oath in good faith, and though you are physically unharmed, I would say they did not uphold their end. Now, if you wish to go to the king, I will go with you,” he agreed, voice heavy. “I have long enjoyed the privilege of not going to court, but I am duty bound to do what I can to stop him. His rage will be great. There’s no telling what damage he will do in his desperation. You mean to renounce the title? I cannot talk you out of it?”</p><p>“I never wanted it. If there were no one else better, maybe. To leave such power in the hands of someone like my father is unthinkable. You are not like him. Your children are not like him. You will make the title something worthwhile again, better than I ever could.”</p><p>“Alright,” Vilhelm agreed. “I will have someone show you to a room and draw a bath. I have preparations to make. We will leave for Court in the morning.”</p><p>“Ah, one more thing,” Geralt added. “We brought a boy with us. Young lad, worked as a stable hand. Would you have room for him here? His assistance in our investigation was vital, and we did not like his chances if we left him there.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll let my butler know to get him sorted. We can always use another hand with the horses.”</p><p>They were shown to a room as nice, though less ostentacious as the one they’d occupied at the family seat. The staff the bustled around them, turning down blankets, building up the fire, and hauling in a tub and water, were serious and plainly worried, though not standoffish in the least. Like seemed to attract like, and it was clear that Vilhelm preferred to surround himself with people that gave a shit about others more than rank and titles and power. The last thing brought in was a tray of food that was left on the table for them, and then the staff left and they were alone.</p><p>Finally, Geralt was free to yank Jaskier into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “I should have told you in private first, not in front of that fucker.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay. There was never going to be a better way to tell me I hold responsibility for the deaths of sixteen people. Fuck, Geralt, six kids! Basically babies!” Jaskier finally, finally, lost it, and sobbed into his shoulder. There were words mixed in, but even his enhanced hearing couldn’t make out most of them. When the storm eventually passed, Jaskier remained a limp, glassy eyed body in his arms, much as he had been the night of the concert. Geralt stripped them both, a task made more difficult by his refusal to put Jaskier down, and got them into the bath. Jaskier limbs had begun to chill as the shock set in and slowed his breathing and heart rate.</p><p>Geralt sat with him in the water, keeping it nice and hot with small shots of <em>igni</em> , and pressed constant kisses to the side of his neck, his face, everywhere he could reach. He kept his arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, unwilling to let Jaskier think, even for a moment, that he wanted to move. It took more than an hour, but eventually the life returned to brighten dulled blue eyes. “Sixteen people, Geralt. Dead, because I was not more careful with my words.”</p><p>“No. Sixteen people dead because some xenophobic fuckers chose to kill them. It is on them, and on me for not catching the loophole. I should know better.”</p><p>“How could you? You’re as straightforward as they come, Geralt. You don’t play word games, you don’t use the double speak so prevalent at court. How could you?”</p><p>“Because I met someone like them before.” With halting words, he spoke finally of Renfri, and all the other girls murdered and dissected at Stregebor’s hand, all because they had been born during an eclipse. A reason as nonsensical as the mixing of races. “I have seen that mindset, seen the lengths someone like that can go to, and I still didn’t catch it.”</p><p>Jaskier shook his head stubbornly. “There is no blame here for you. These are my kin, it was my responsibility to see and prevent.”</p><p>Geralt stifled a sigh and just let his chin rest on the crown of Jaskier’s head. “Perhaps your uncle is right. In the end, neither of us forced their hand. They chose to do what they did.”</p><p>“They did,” Jaskier agreed. He paused for a time. “I don’t think I will ever not feel responsible.”</p><p>“Neither will I.”</p><p>They remained in the bath for quite a while longer. Eventually, though, with pruned hands and feet, they had to get out. They dried and dressed in silence, then sat at the table and faced the food. Jaskier picked at the ham a bit, but never actually put any in his mouth. He finally shoved the plate away and let his gaze rest on the fire. Wordless, Geralt picked him up and bundled him into bed. Neither slept, though they remained beneath the blankets through the rest of that day and the night that followed. Geralt could hear the sounds of the household scrambling, packing for the trip to Court. He didn’t focus on any of it, preferring to tune it out as best he could and just hold his lover.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When morning crept in, they climbed from the bed and dressed in silence. Jaskier’s eyes were bloodshot, clearly showing his exhaustion. Geralt could go much longer without sleep before he would start to feel the effects, and the fury in him could fuel him even longer. It was Jaskier’s exhaustion, fury, and guilt that weighed him down – and his inability to do anything to assuage it. If he thought for even a moment that killing the old man would help, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he thought that Jaskier’s method would cause the old bastard so much more misery than simple death ever could. For a man that found power and appearance to be all important to lose everything would eat at him until the day he died, hopefully of starvation in some hole somewhere.</p><p>The horses were groomed and fed and well rested after the hard ride the day before. They were still somewhat subdued as they mounted, and Rascal failed to toss his head playfully as he normally would have. Jaskier patted him on the neck but didn’t give him the usual fussing.</p><p>When they set out, there were five of them, with two guards flanking Vilhelm as they departed. Geralt didn’t both to ask about them, nor the small chest they carried. He suspected what they were attempting would be a little more complicated than simply telling the king of Reginold’s crime. His grasp of human politics wasn’t that great, he really did try his best to avoid such matters as much as any witcher could. But if Reginold had the power that he and Jaskier both claimed, then simply informing the king of what he’d done, what he’d been attempting, might not be enough to move the king into pissing off more of his nobles. Then, too, there was the king’s prejudice against non-humans. It could well work against them as much as it would against Reginold – more, possibly, since the old bastard was fully human, whereas he and Jaskier were not.</p><p>The trip took them a day and a half. Geralt was relieved to see that he and Jaskier garnered no strange looks when they climbed into the same bedroll. Vilhelm was helping them, and he’d have hated to have to punch the man or his guards. When they reached the capitol, they went directly to the castle, though they entered through a side door with no fanfare or announcement. Vilhelm spoke briefly to one of the servants and the man rushed off, returning a few minutes later with a man dressed the same as Vilhelm’s guards.</p><p>“I sent Mikal ahead to get word to the king of our impending arrival, and the grave nature of the visit,” Vilhelm told them quietly. “Mikal, were you successful?”</p><p>“Yes, my lord. His Majesty has ordered an apartment readied for you, and will speak with you this evening after you’ve refreshed yourselves. This way.”</p><p>They followed Mikal through the castle to a small set of rooms that included a small bathing chamber, complete with three baths that servants were already filling. Vilhelm waved them ahead and pulled Mikal into another room to talk privately. Once the servants were finished, they bathed quickly, not sharing for a change, but bathing for efficiency. When they emerged, Vilhelm pointed to two sets of clothing, nicer than anything they’d brought with them. “You will not be able to see the king under arms. It would be an insult to him, even as Jaskier’s bodyguard, to do so – it would imply his castle is not safe for his subjects,” he told them.</p><p>Jaskier offered up a wan smile. “At least you won’t look like a sad silk trader,” he pointed out.</p><p>Garalt flashed him a smile, glad even for that minor teasing. They changed, then sat around the small table to pick at the refreshments offered. Geralt nudged Jaskier’s plate. “Try to eat a little more, Jas. If you need to shift to prove anything, you’ll need the energy.” Jaskier grimaced at him but didn’t argue. He applied himself a little more to the food and managed to get down a respectable amount. Vilhelm joined them with an appetite not much better than theirs.</p><p>“The king will see us soon. Julian, I know it is difficult, but you must try to remain as calm as possible. I don’t believe his majesty will be pleased with <em>anything</em> you will tell him, nor with the evidence of other, lesser crimes that he’s committed over the years that I have brought. But if you get too emotional, too enraged, he is likely to see that as an out of favor son selling stories from bitterness. Do you understand? You have no standing here – neither bad nor good. Calm, concerned, and loyal to the crown.”</p><p>“I know, uncle. I’m ready.”</p><p>“Geralt, that goes for you as well. The king has no trust for witchers, though no particular dislike.”</p><p>“I can behave. I have done so before. He is not the first royal I have met.” He kept his mouth shut about his blatant disobedience towards them. He didn’t think it would add anything positive to the mood. When they were shown in to King Marketh a few minutes later, Geralt wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or bad that the king was alone. He was a man roughly the same age as Jaskier, with sandy blonde hair and cool gray eyes that took them all in with a sweeping glance. Whatever his prejudices were, he was no fool. Geralt bowed when the other two did, but kept his eyes lifted enough to watch the man.</p><p>“Your Majesty, this is my youngest nephew Julian Alfred Pankratz, and the witcher Geralt of Rivia,” Vilhelm began. “We have come seeking guidance in the matter of my elder brother Reginold, and some actions, both over the years and very recently, that have cause grave concern on his state of mind.”</p><p>“So your man informed me. I’ve heard of the murders – I believe some of what you’ve come to tell me regards them?”</p><p>Vilhelm gestured at Jaskier, who stepped forward slightly with a nod. “It does, Your Majesty,” he said.</p><p>Marketh nodded. “Proceed.”</p><p>“Some weeks ago,” Jaskier began, “I received the message that my siblings, their spouses, and all their children had been murdered in their beds. Though I have admittedly been rather estranged from my family, I was of course shocked and grieved by such senseless slaughter. We made haste to my family’s home to pay respects and investigate, though we were too late for the funeral rites.” Jaskier continued on, detailing their investigation, explaining Geralt’s abilities and glossing over his own. When pressed, he admitted to his ability to change his shape, though he managed to express it as a peculiarity of his mixed heritage, rather like a birth defect, rather than an inherited trait, which managed to keep their part of the already strained to breaking oath to the elven king. Geralt could smell the anger and disgust the king felt when Jaskier’s mixed birth was revealed, though the king’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. He could also smell the fury that rose all over again from his lover as he retold everything they had learned and overheard, but Jaskier’s expression wavered only a little. Enough to indicate his emotional state to the keen eyed king. When he’d finished, Vilhelm picked up and offered the accumulated evidence of past crimes.</p><p>“This is all very interesting,” he said when they’d finished. “What is it that you want from me?”</p><p>“Your guidance, Your Majesty,” Jaskier answered. “My relationship has been tumultuous with my family. Their senseless murder has not made my thinking any more clear. I believe my father has failed utterly in his duty to protect hearth and home. I believe that his desire to create a dynasty, to grasp power for longer than a human lifespan, and in places the family has previously had no foothold, blinded him to his duty. He ignored a known threat, did not so much has have a single guard patrol the wall around the estate. He stated baldly that my ability to alter my form made me of more use than any of my siblings because it would allow me to spy on others and use what knowledge I gained to blackmail people. He also stated that he would have been willing to basically sell a five year old little girl, his own granddaughter to someone who seeks children for their sexual pleasure. He didn’t even warn my siblings or their spouses of the mixed blood we carry – and it is known that the offspring of a halfbreed can result in crippling deformities – something I think they should have known about. I have always been a romantic. I have followed my heart and my feet across the continent. I have witnessed events that have made history, but nothing that I have seen or done tells me what the right course of action is. You will know better than I what to do.”</p><p>“Hmm.” The king shifted and his gaze fell on Geralt. “You, witcher. Your kind are rather infamously neutral in human matters. Why did you get involved in this?”</p><p>“I have known Julian,” the name felt alien on his tongue and he hated it, “for over twenty years. I was with him when he learned of the murders. I offered to try to help to identify who had committed them, and safeguard him from the same fate. It seemed no stretch at all to think he could be in line for the same, and it was likely only his nomadic lifestyle had kept him from being killed as well.” He stopped, but the king seemed to expect more. “We are friends,” he added, though that too, seemed wrong to say.</p><p>“They say witchers don’t feel emotions. That would suggest you would not be capable of feeling friendship.”</p><p>“A misconception, Your Majesty. Witchers tend not to feel fear, that is true. It takes an extreme situation for us to fear. But we have the same emotions otherwise as non-mutated humans. We tend to make people uneasy, even afraid, so it’s rare for us to make connections enough for that to be known.”</p><p>“Ah. Interesting.” The king rubbed his chin thoughtfully as his gaze passed leisurely over them all a few times. “You have brought me a very curious case indeed. Certainly some correction must be made. I will think on the matter. Until then, you are guests here. Witcher, I am particularly interested in getting to know you better. This is my first opportunity to meet one of your kind, and I find you are not what I expected at all. Why, you have not cut off a single head or eaten one baby!”</p><p>“I am off duty, Your Majesty,” Geralt said dryly. Cautiously, he brushed a subtle hand over Jaskier’s back to keep him calm. Such comments always bothered him more than they did Geralt, and he could see the rise in tension in his frame.</p><p>The king laughed. “Well then, I hope you consider your stay here a prolonged vacation! Julian, perhaps you would entertain our court with a bit of music while you are here. I have heard of you, <em>Jaskier</em>, and would be pleased to hear your songs sung by their composer.”</p><p>“I did not bring my lute, Your Majesty, but if your court musicians would consent to loan me an instrument, it would be my pleasure.” Jaskier bowed a bit as he spoke</p><p>“Of course, I don’t see why they would not. Now, I have matters I must attend to. I will see you all at dinner.”</p><p>Dismissed, they bowed again and left the room.</p><p>No one spoke again until they’d reached their small apartment. Then Vilhelm blew out a breath, sounding relieved. “That went well. I think the king was not pleased about any of it and may be willing to rule in our favor.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Geralt allowed. “He does not like that Jaskier is mixed.”</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t. But I think we struck the right tone, not demanding any particular action. We must wait and see. He may want to verify as much as he can of our words. So far, I have brought evidence of small crimes, but they are not things he would normally care about in his nobles. Beyond that, he has only our words.”</p><p>“Some can be proven. My shapeshifting can,” Jaskier pointed out. “That isn’t something even full mages can do.”</p><p>“Yes, but that is the only part that can be. He will want other witnesses where he can get them, someone to verify the lack of guards, perhaps. Even Geralt’s abilities may be tested. Just…keep your wits about you.”</p><p>“We generally do,” Geralt assured him. Vilhelm nodded and went into his own room.</p><p>Geralt tugged Jaskier into their bedroom, then pulled him close. “You’re worried,” he noted as he tucked his nose into his hair to breathe him in.</p><p>“A little. I expected to give evidence in front of witnesses,” Jaskier told him. “Even if the king left him the title, he would be ruined. It wouldn’t be a good idea to go gossiping while we’re waiting for a decision, so I don’t know that there’s a way to get word around about what he’s done, or why we sought out the king, without pissing him off.”</p><p>“Wait until the king makes his decision. If he chooses to leave that fucker his title, renounce your claim, tell the biggest gossip you can find why we were here, and we’ll leave.” He rubbed Jaskier’s back a little. “Just say the word, and you know I would kill him,” he added softly.</p><p>‘You’re not my personal assassin,” Jaskier said instantly, fiercely.</p><p>“I know,” Geralt assured him. He lifted his head so he could meet Jaskier’s eyes. “I do know that, Jas. You’ve never treated me as a weapon. I’m not sure you know how rare that is. I want to kill him – I’ve wanted to kill your mother, too. The way they hurt you….” Geralt held him a little tighter. “They deserve to die for that alone.”</p><p>“Love,” Jaskier breathed. His lips sought Geralt’s, and Geralt kissed back eagerly. Jaskier pulled at his shirt until he could get beneath it, then ran his hands over Geralt’s back and belly. “I want you, please, take me to bed,” he begged between kisses.</p><p>“Always, anything, Jas. Whatever you want.”</p><p>“Fuck me. Gods, just fuck me until I can’t think about anything else but you.”</p><p>Geralt was more than happy to oblige.</p><p>A considerable amount of time later, Geralt reluctantly climbed from the ruin their bed to answer Vilhelm’s knock at the door. The man eyed his state of undress briefly but made no comment on it. “We’re expected for dinner soon. You’ll need to dress.”</p><p>“We’ll be ready,” Geralt promised. When he shut the door he found Jaskier already climbing out of bed. He didn’t even try to fight the urge to pull his lover close for a deep, long kiss. “I love you,” he said when they finally parted. “This will be over soon.”</p><p>“I know.” Jaskier carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair with a smile, teasing out a few tangles that he’d put there to begin with. “And I love you – so much. I’m so glad you’re here with me.”</p><p>“Nowhere I’d rather be, fluff. Let’s go have an awkward dinner with a king.”</p><p>“And play on someone else’s instrument,” Jaskier agreed gloomily.</p><p>They did a fast wash with the water in the basin and dressed again. Their shirts were a little wrinkled, but not horribly. It wasn’t enough to make even Jaskier grumble.</p><p>Geralt was rather unsurprised to be seat at the side of the king, though Vilhelm was seated further way with some of his acquaintances. He had suspected they would be, and that he would spend much of the meal answering intrusive questions about witchers. Royalty often couldn’t seem to help themselves – if they wanted to know something, they saw no reason why they should not get those answers. And since they were waiting on his decision, he definitely had extra leverage to force Geralt to remain and answer, rather than simply walking out as he would normally have done. The tiny, annoyed huffs coming from Jaskier at the ruder questions were amusing enough to keep him entertained, though. It was so rare that his lover felt he had to stifle his normally grand and loud outrage.</p><p>“I must say, your abilities do sound impressive, witcher. I should like to see them for myself,” the king commented as his questioning finally drew to a close.</p><p>“Hm. I have not heard of any monsters in the area, Your Majesty,” Geralt told him. “Have you a problem I am not aware of?”</p><p>“Well, not of a monstery sort. But we do have reports of a particularly aggressive boar that has been bothering travels near the main road. I had planned to lead a hunt for the creature. Perhaps you’d care to join me?” Marketh ‘suggested’.</p><p>“Boar can be dangerous. I should be honored to join you,” Geralt said carefully. He probably <em>should</em> be, though he really wasn’t. trophy hunting had never interested him.</p><p>“Excellent! We leave in the morning. What say you, Julian? Will you also join us?”</p><p>Jaskier turned wide, disingenuous blue eyes on them. “Boar hunting? I have never engaged in the activity. I’m not certain I would be of much use. My archery is not quite up to snuff yet.”</p><p>Marketh chortled. “Oh no, one does not hunt boar with bow and arrow! Not unless one wants to die, or at least be horribly maimed!”</p><p>“Boars are tough, in bone and hide, and have nasty tempers,” Geralt explained. “You have to use a spear to penetrate the hide deeply enough to kill them. An arrow would only piss it off more.”</p><p>Jaskier blanched a little. “Ah, then I should maybe sit it out. Unless music along the way would be of any use, but I’m certain I would only end up hiding behind Geralt anyway when the thing charged, so.”</p><p>“Then perhaps you should indeed sit it out. Prepare a grand welcome for the victorious hunter upon our return.” Marketh gave the barely visible love bite peeking out of Jaskier’s collar a sly look.</p><p>Geralt frowned and shifted slightly, blocking more of Jaskier from his sight. A hint of arousal had started to waft up from the man and he did not care for it one bit. King or no, if he tried something Geralt would tear him apart. He’d more than had his fill of people hurting his lover that he wasn’t quite able to defend him from. Marketh noticed the move and met his gaze. With a slight shift, barely perceptible, the king backed off.</p><p>“But speaking of music! Bard, I do believe you agreed to play for us tonight, provided someone could loan you an instrument. Piotr, please, your lute if you wouldn’t mind!” the king called, gesturing at the group of musicians playing quietly in the corner.</p><p>Jaskier stood and gave the king a brief bow before walking over to the musicians and accepting the lute. They exchanged a few words, Jaskier nodded at Piotr respectfully, and looped the instrument over his chest. “Have you any requests, Your Majesty?” he called, lightly strumming over the strings.</p><p>“Oh, I should think we could do with something fun! None of those long, depressing ballads, if you please.”</p><p>Jaskier smiled and nodded and launched into the Fishmonger’s Daughter, one of his most popular jigs. Soon the room was clapping along as his tongue tripped faster and faster over the dirty lyrics. Geralt leaned back in his seat, lightly holding his wine as he followed the course Jaskier took around the room, engaging the guests and encouraging the clapping.</p><p>“It’s a bit of an odd pair, a bard and a witcher. How did you two meet?” Marketh asked, also watching.</p><p>Geralt smiled faintly. “He was fresh out of Oxenfurt, newly on the road and playing in a tavern where I had stopped to drink. He pestered me for my opinion and happened to recognize me by my hair and the swords – and insisted on following me on a contract.”</p><p>“And he’s been following you ever since?”</p><p>“More or less. Our paths tended to part and cross for many years. The last few we have traveled together consistently.”</p><p>“I found it a bit odd that he did not outright ask me to strip his father of his title. It’s almost as though he does not want it for himself.”</p><p>Geralt glanced at him. “He doesn’t. If there were no other options, I believe he would do his best to see to the people of Lettenhove, but he feels remarkably unsuited to the task.”</p><p>“So his goal is not to take the title and wealth for himself. Interesting. That is quite rare, in my experience. What would you do with his father, if it were up to you?”</p><p>“Kill him,” Geralt said honestly. “He has caused nothing but misery and death and I am a straightforward man.”</p><p>“So you are. Perhaps rather too straightforward for politics, but I can respect it all the same.”</p><p>“And that is why witchers tend to remain neutral. I’m not sure anyone would enjoy our take on politics.”</p><p>The king stayed quiet for a bit, just listening to the music. After a couple more songs he stirred again. “If I choose to strip the title from Reginold and give it to Julian, what would you do? He would not be able to wander the continent with you as he has done.”</p><p>“It would not be forever. He has cousins, I believe, that are nearly of age to take on a title. It would not be so long to stay off the road, or take contracts nearby.” Geralt shrugged as though the matter were of little consequence, though the idea didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t afford to be away from Ciri all the year round, but the thought of leaving Jaskier, even for a winter, was just as unacceptable.</p><p>“You are remarkably devoted.”</p><p>“Completely,” Geralt said flatly.</p><p>“He would not try for heirs of his own?”</p><p>“Even were we not…devoted, he is aware of the high risk to any children he should have. Should he have a child that bore no defects at birth, it is almost certain his grandchild would. He will have no children.”</p><p>Marketh grunted with clear satisfaction, then clapped loudly as the most recent song ended. “Come now, Julian, you simply <em>must</em> play Toss a Coin!” he called. “It is your most famous, is it not? And we’ve the hero himself with us tonight, it is only fitting!”</p><p>“Gladly, Your Majesty!” Jaskier called back. His eyes sparkled when they met Geralt’s and he launched into the first song he’d ever written about him.</p><p>The king didn’t speak of the situation again the rest of the evening, but Geralt was reasonably sure there would be more questions during the hunt. When the feast finally broke up and they were permitted to escape to their apartment, Vilhelm questioned him closely on what had been said, but seemed relieved.</p><p>“You handled it well. The king appreciates when someone speaks plainly, though few are willing to be quite so blunt. Now that he knows Julian has no personal gain from this, he may take his word more seriously. Well done!” Vilhelm clapped him on the back. “And an invitation to hunt with him as well. He seems quite taken with you.”</p><p>“Hmph. You should have heard some of the questions he was asking about witchers,” Jaskier sniffed. “Invasive and rude, if you ask me.”</p><p>“I’m used to it. Don’t worry about it. A couple more days and we can be free of all this,” Geralt assured him. Geralt put a hand on the back of his neck and let his fingertips lightly massage just behind his ears. Much of the tension left his frame, but he still managed a glare for the underhanded tactic. “I think we should turn in. I am to hunt a boar tomorrow, after all. I prefer to not get gored because I am too tired to dodge.” Vilhelm was all smiles and nods as he shooed them off, though Geralt didn’t care overmuch about his approval – Jaskier was tired, and had reached a stage where he would soon be bouncing off the walls, despite their vigorous afternoon activity. The lingering fury and guilt, the odd high he got from performing, and the new outrage towards the king’s invasive questions was all working as a peculiar potion that needed to be worked off somehow.</p><p>With their door locked behind them, Geralt stripped his lover and spread him out over the bed. After warming some oil on his palms, he ran his hands along Jaskier’s back in long, firm strokes, kneading out the knots tightening his muscles. Usually Jaskier was the one to do this for him, particularly after a hunt where he’d needed one of his potions, whose toxicity left him feeling like shit for a while after. Jaskier rarely held onto such tensions, so Geralt had little practice at being on this end of things. But he had a good memory and keen senses, which he applied with total dedication and concentration. The little muscle twitches, the sighs, grunts, and occasional wince, all guided his efforts until Jasker felt all but boneless beneath his hands. The lingering scent of their sex from earlier mixed with the rising scent of contentment from his lover made for a heady aroma that made Geralt wish he could purr. “Roll over.” His tone, as too often happened, emerged commanding rather than requesting, but as always, Jaskier took no issue with it. With a little hum, Jaskier twisted fluidly beneath him until he was sprawled on his back, arms flung over his head. It was a totally vulnerable position, with all of his most vital parts exposed, but as always, there wasn’t even a hint of defensiveness about Jaskier at all, just complete trust.</p><p>Geralt added fresh oil to his hands and began to work as diligently on Jaskier front as he had his back. Jaskier had been half hard when he’d rolled over, and by the time Geralt had loosened the muscles of his chest and belly, his cock lay fat and red, hard against his stomach. Geralt ducked down to press an open mouthed kiss to the tip, gazing up the length of Jaskier’s body until hazy blue eyes opened to meet it. “What do you want?” he asked, letting his lips just graze the tip, his breath fan out over it, with every word.</p><p>“Hmm.” Jaskier stretched, very much like a cat. “Come up here and kiss me,” he requested. He reached down to grasp Geralt’s shoulder, urging him to obey. Jaskier licked hungrily into his mouth as his hands went to the fastenings of Geralt’s clothing, somewhat clumsily pulling at laces and buttons. A little more coordinated, Geralt assisted until he could press the full length of his bared body against Jaskier’s. Jaskier hooked a leg around his hip and slotted his cock snug against Geralt’s. “Just like this,” he said, rocking his hips so they slid deliciously together. “Like this, until we come all over each other, and then you can rub it into me so I smell like us both, for days and days,” he breathed.</p><p>The little shit damned well <em>knew</em> how Geralt felt about that and smiled a tad smugly as Geralt’s hips jerked uncontrollably in response. With a low growl, Geralt did exactly as requested, one hand clamped on Jaskier’s hip, braced on his other forearm for leverage. The oil liberally coating Jaskier’s belly eased the friction, as did the fluid from their leaking cocks. He couldn’t keep from absolutely ravaging Jaskier’s long neck, his collarbones, back to his mouth and then his ears, leaving bruises and swollen lips in his wake. Every moan, every undulation of hips, every clutch of fingers in his flesh and sharp sting of teeth sinking into him, drove his lust and need higher, until he spilled between them. Jaskier’s blown eyes widened when he felt the hot splash of fluid on his cock and belly, then clenched tight as he threw his head back with a guttural moan, adding to the puddle.</p><p>As requested, Geralt ran his hand through their combined spend and massaged it into the oil and sweat that slicked his bard’s belly and chest. Jaskier absolutely reeked of them, of <em>him</em>, and likely would for days even after a bath. Jaskier hummed and trailed his fingertips across his stomach and brought them to his mouth. Geralt chased after immediately, thrusting his tongue inside to take his fill of the combined taste of them on Jaskier’s tongue.</p><p>“I would wager,” Jaskier said in a teasing tone when Geralt finally let him have his mouth back, “that if I walked the halls now, <em>everyone</em> could smell us on me. Even with our poor old plain human senses.”</p><p>Geralt frowned and yanked the blankets up over them, trapping the scent and, more importantly, Jaskier within the cocoon. “You’ll stay right here,” he ordered gruffly.</p><p>“I’ve no intention of leaving,” Jaskier promised. “I just like it – knowing that everyone would know I’m yours. And you’re mine.”</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt agreed, because both statements were very much true. He shifted a bit so that one heavy leg was thrown over both of Jaskier’s and his chest was half covering his lover, blocking out the world as much as he could while still letting him breathe. He got his nose tucked up into the hair behind Jaskier’s ear and let his eyes drift closed. Jaskier shifted a little himself, not seeking more room but getting his hands settled comfortably on Geralt’s ass and arm. As Geralt listened, his heartbeat and breathing slowed, and slowly his muscles relaxed completely as he finally succumbed to sleep. Only then did Geralt let himself sleep as well, though lightly enough to wake at the first foreign sound should the need arise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours later, the sounds of people walking around outside their door roused him. He concentrated briefly, long enough to determine that it was Vilhelm and a couple servants with breakfast, and dismissed them for the moment. He turned his attention to Jaskier. With the early morning sun brightening the room, he was able to study his lover’s face with exquisite clarity; the arch of his eyebrows, the dark fan of his lashes against his cheeks, the stubble that darkened his fair skin, and the still kiss swollen, red lips. The dark circles that had been beneath his eyes had lightened, telling Geralt that he’d slept quite deeply and for the first time in too long, without nightmares. He found himself filled with a peculiar sort of pride at that. He’d felt it before, almost always about Jaskier, but sometime Ciri as well. <strong>He</strong> had made Jaskier relaxed and contented and safe enough to sleep deeply and peacefully, and he had done so just by being there and loving him, no violence preceding it at all. He had been able to fulfill an emotional need – him, Geralt, the Butcher of Blaviken!</p><p>The pace of Jaskier’s heartbeat increased just slightly moments before his eyes opened a crack and his lips stretched into a soft smile. “I can feel you watching me,” he said, voice husky with sleep.</p><p>“I like to look at you.” He kissed the tip of his nose just to see that smile widen.</p><p>A light knock on the door interrupted whatever Jaskier would have said. “What!” Geralt barked.</p><p>Vilhelm cleared his throat. “The king’s hunt is preparing to leave. You’re expected, Geralt,” the man called, sounding honestly regretful.</p><p>“He’ll be out in a few moments,” Jaskier answered. His eyes sparkled a bit as he winked at Geralt. “You should probably wash up a bit, I think the beast would smell you coming a mile off.” His fingers tickled through Geralt’s chest hair and his nose wrinkled a bit as they encountered the dried remnants of last night’s spend.</p><p>Geralt allowed his reluctance to leave show as he climbed out of bed and gave himself a quick wash before putting his regular clothes on. There was no way he was hunting a damned boar without armor – the way their luck tended, it would turn out to be something far more dangerous, and then he’d have to hear Jaskier scolding him for days over getting bitten or gored. When he was dressed, he turned back to the bed where Jaskier was still curled beneath the blankets, eyes still a little sleepy. Geralt walked over to the window and looked out, assessing. He could see the hunting party assembling below, and judged it rather unlikely that they’d actually find the beast they were looking for – not with the number of people that appeared to be going. Even the most stubborn of boars would not want to challenge a group that size. “This could take a while,” he grumbled. “The fool has a good two dozen men out there.”</p><p>Jaskier grinned. “Don’t worry, love, they won’t all stay together. Smaller groups will break off to flush the beast out. Most are there to handle the dogs that will do most of the work anyway.”</p><p>Geralt raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that? I thought you didn’t hunt.”</p><p>“I fibbed. I’ve been dragged on boar hunts a couple times. Ghastly affairs, I hated every moment,” Jaskier admitted, unrepentant.</p><p>Geralt bent over him, one brow arched. “Sneaky little shit, I couldn’t even tell.”</p><p>“That is one lie that is so well practiced I’d be surprised if you could, especially in a room filled with other people and food.” Jaskier freed one hand to tug on Geralt’s hair. “I hate the way the highborn hunt. The food part is secondary to the trophy, which is just…stupid.” Geralt chuckled quietly then sighed as another knock sounded at the door. “Go on,” Jaskier told him. “Find the stupid pig and come back. I think I fancy a lie in today.”</p><p>“A lie in, is it, while I’m out stuck hunting with a king and his lackeys?”</p><p>“Hmm, yes.” Jaskier grinned and shifted, and Geralt could tell the hand still beneath the blanket was moving and settled at his groin. “A lie in. Where I lie here and think about you. Your thighs, for example. I think I’ll spend some time thinking about your thighs, and how much I enjoy spending time between them.” He licked his lips to illustrate. Geralt swallowed his frustrated groan, pressed a fast kiss to smirking lips, and turned to stride out before he gave into the urge to ignore the hunt entirely and climb right back into bed. Their business was not yet done, and he didn’t want to piss off the king whose decision they were still waiting on.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier sighed as the door closed behind Geralt, and let his eyes fall shut again. He really was still quite tired, and had no desire to leave the comfort of the bed for the foreseeable future. The riot of emotions over the last few day – weeks, really, since the concert – had taken their toll on him. He wasn’t used to being so angry for so long, and when added to the guilt that chewed at him like a rat, he felt almost used up. There was nothing good about the situation they were in, and no matter what anyone said, he knew it was at least partially his own fault. He had studied folklore and history and fairy stories, he knew all about wishes and oaths and promises with loopholes that came back to bite you on the ass. He felt most guilty over the children, and the sisters and brother in law that he’d never even met. His siblings had never cared for him, and he’d always expected that when they eventually died, he would never even know about it, as estranged from them all as he’d been.</p><p>But while he knew his own measure of guilt, he still blamed his parents for the entire mess most of all. His mother, that knew too well and shared in the clearly violent xenophobia of her clan, his father who had also known, and neither had chosen to warn any of them, but less take any sort of precautions. His father was too arrogant, too greedy for money and power, willing to have mixed children in the hopes they would inherit the increased lifespan so that the Pankratz family would continue to be powerful long into the future, and perhaps even gain a foothold into the Brotherhood – as though it would be so easy, even if one of them had been born with magical ability. Who could never view someone except through a lens of how useful they could be to him, even an innocent child.</p><p>And then there were the elves themselves. He didn’t know what to do about them, if there was anything he <em>could</em> do. He had, as per their oath, protected the secret of their natural ability to shapeshift. Not out of any desire to protect them, but so that the oath that stayed their hand remained intact and he and Geralt didn’t end up with the entirety of the clan on their heels baying for blood. But they had slaughtered sixteen people for no reason other than being born to the wrong mother. In any story or ballad, justice would be them dying in their turn. Part of Jaskier, a big part if he were honest, agreed. But the rest of him balked at the idea of an entire clan being slaughtered. He was sure he could arrange it – without even asking Geralt to do it, which he never would. A word to the equally xenophobic king they were guests of, a couple inciting songs in the taverns around town. It would not take much to tip people that already were inclined to distrust non-humans into becoming a mob, and the relevant area of Brokilon was close enough for such a mob to reach without losing momentum.</p><p>He didn’t think he could do such a thing. There were surely children among the clan, too. Surely some of them weren’t as fanatical as the ones that had worked for a year to track down and murder his family. If he did something like that, he would be no better, even if his hands weren’t the ones that took the lives directly.</p><p>No, he concluded. There was nothing to be done about the elves. He would have to live with the fact that they’d literally gotten away with murder and content himself with ruining his father. Even if the king decided to let his father keep the title, all Jaskier would have to do was tell people the reason he’d come to begin with. Speak of his mixed heritage, and his belief of his father’s failing mind and judgement, and let him be ruined socially. He would never make a successful deal again, would garner no second marriage to get himself a new heir, and with his death, the title and wealth would go to his uncle or cousins anyway.</p><p>With that as resolved as it could be, he let his eyes close again in the hopes that he could actually get a little more sleep. He was still relaxed enough, warm and sated from Geralt’s attentions the day and night before, and their combined smells, though slightly less pleasant hours later, filled him with enough contentment. He drifted into a pleasant, light doze.</p><p>Something woke him with a start. Maybe the scuff of a boot, or the hint of air swirling over his face when there should be no breeze with both the window and door shut tight. Whatever it was, Jaskier woke abruptly and opened his eyes in time to see a dagger heading for his chest. He threw himself to the side in time to save his heart, though the searing pain in his arm said he hadn’t been quite fast enough. He struggled out of the previously cozy nest of blankets and scrambled away as the man came at him again. Jaskier gained his feet and got a decent look at his attacker, and froze almost too long when he recognized the guard from his father’s house, the one who’d been eating with the staff the night he’d spied on them.</p><p>The man didn’t speak. No grand speeches about a son’s duty or a family betrayed, nothing that Jaskier could use to stall or distract. He just closed in again, dagger held with competence. Jaskier kept dodging, thankful for all the training he’d had with Geralt, and looked around for a weapon. But he had not brought his practice sword with them, he had no clue where he’d stashed his dagger, and Geralt had taken both his swords with him for the hunt on the off chance the creature was <em>not</em> a boar. He snatched up  a candlestick and made do, blocking the swipes and attempting a few kicks and counters, but he was extremely hampered by the shortness of the candlestick and the fact that he was stark damn naked.</p><p>Nevertheless, he managed, mostly through luck, to land a fairly hard blow to the back of the hand holding the dagger. The guard dropped it and Jaskier was able to kick it away under the bed, then staggered back himself thanks to a kick to the stomach that made him wheeze. The guard came at him while he tried to regain his breath, and he staggered further back until he fetched up against the windowsill. They grappled over the candlestick, and as Jaskier managed to spin them, he caught sight through the window of a large party riding through the castle gates – one with the royal standard flying.</p><p>His moment of distraction cost him. He lost the candlestick and had to fight to breathe as hands went around his neck. Their struggles spun them again, and Jaskier risked jabbing his elbow back against the glass, relieved when it shattered behind him. A hard strike with his knee to the man’s groin bought him breath enough to yell, “Geralt!” at the top of his considerable lungs. Between that and the blood now dripping down his arm, Geralt would come as fast as he could. He just had to not die until then.</p><p>Those hands closed back around his neck as he drew another breath. He narrowed his eyes and <em>shifted</em>. The guard stumbled back with a shout when he was suddenly attempting to strangle not a bard but a leopard. Jaskier dropped to all four feet and circled him, tail lashing and lips peeled back in a vicious snarl. His leg still bled, but it wasn’t gushing, so no artery had been severed, and if Geralt came quickly enough, he wouldn’t lose enough blood to be worrisome.</p><p>The guard steadied himself. “I hardly believed it when his lordship told me,” he sneered. He swooped and snatched up the candlestick, hefting it a couple times. “But you truly are a freak. It’s a favor I’m doing you, unnatural thing.” He darted forward, aiming the heavy thing in his hands at Jaskier’s head. Jaskier dodged easily and offered his own swipe, and his connected, shredding the leather of his pants like butter. The guard stumbled and Jaskier took the chance to pounce, knocking him to the ground and pinning his arms to the floor with large, clawed feet. He let his jaws close over his neck and clenched, holding himself just on the edge of either breaking the neck or puncturing flesh and letting his lifeblood spurt away.</p><p>The man soon figured out that he was being held rather than killed and thought to try to take advantage. His arms were firmly pinned, but his legs were free, and he drove his knee repeatedly into Jaskier’s side in an attempt to cause enough pain to get free. But Jaskier was more than well muscled in his current form, and all those muscles were tensed. While the blows hurt, and would likely bruise, the pain was not enough to cause him to break his hold.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long they had been struggling, nor how long it had been since he’d called for Geralt. Time was all weird. But Geralt <em>did</em> come, along with a number of the king’s guards, plus the king himself, though the humans trailed a ways behind Geralt himself.</p><p>Geralt kicked the door in, showering Jaskier and the guard with wood splinters. The moment Jaskier registered his lover’s presence, he opened his jaw and backed off. Geralt picked the guard up, spun, and punched him so hard in the face that blood flew and bone crunched, and the guard was sent flying out the door and into the hands of the king’s guards. Geralt spun back towards him and knelt, hands gentle as they searched for the source of the blood. When he found the shards of glass in Jaskier’s elbow and the cut to his shoulder, he swore and reached for the first piece of cloth that he could find, which happened to be Jaskier’s shirt. He plucked the glass out and then gestured with the shirt. “Shift, Jas, or the bandage won’t stay when you do.”</p><p>Jaskier peeked around him to see the king and guards staring. They didn’t move when he tried glaring at them, so with a sigh, he shifted back so Geralt could bandage his arm. With the wounds tightly bound, Geralt reached for the next nearest bit of clothing, which was his own discarded shirt and tugged it over Jaskier’s head. The difference in their sizes meant that it at least covered him down to his thighs, which made him feel a <em>little </em>better about standing up. Geralt immediately pulled him close.</p><p>The king cleared his throat. “Julian, do you know who this man is?” He pointed at the senseless guard, hanging limply in the hands of his own guards.</p><p>Jaskier nodded against Geralt’s chest. “Yes, Your Majesty. That is one of my father’s personal guards.”</p><p>The king’s face went severe and cold. “And did he happen to indicate whether he had been ordered here or if he took on this task of his own volition?”</p><p>Jaskier glanced at the guards again, but the cat was already well and truly out of the bag – so to speak. They had just seen him shapeshift from a giant leopard back into a human. “He said my father had warned him of my ability to alter my form. I would say he knew of this trip. His dagger is under the bed. He attempted to stab me in my sleep.”</p><p>“Darius!” the king snapped. One of the guards stood a little straighter. “Take as many men as you like and bring Reginold Pankratz to me – and every single member of the household, guard and servant alike. I will <strong>not</strong> tolerate murders under my own roof! Ask the mage to accompany you – she can make a portal to expedite the process, in the likely event that Reginold intends to flee. He will not expect a response so quickly.”</p><p>“Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed a little then gestured sharply at the guards. The senseless guard was dragged away, and as the room outside cleared, Jaskier was able to see his uncle waiting, pale and wide eyed. When there was room, he approached.</p><p>“Julian, by the gods, are you alright? This – this is unbelievable. His negligence was awful enough but to actively try to kill his own son! And under the king’s own roof! He’s gone mad.” He seemed almost to flutter, wanting to check on Jaskier but warned off by the glare that could melt stone coming from Geralt.</p><p>“People aren’t really people to him, uncle,” Jaskier said quietly. “We’re tools, nothing more. You’re either a tool or an obstacle, and I guess he decided I’m an obstacle.”</p><p>“I think he will find that you were one obstacle he should have left alone,” the king said grimly. “His trial will begin immediately upon his arrival into my hands.”</p><p>“He will lie, you know, and he is very practiced at it. He will blame his guard,” Jaskier predicted.</p><p>“The mage attached to my court is very talented. I believe she will be able to produce truthfulness from him – from them all, provided the man your witcher struck ever regains consciousness. Did you have to hit him so hard?” Marketh said to Geralt, sounding exasperated.</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt said flatly. “You’re welcome for not simply killing him.” He growled a bit. “I will not be so restrained with the next person attempting to kill my bard.”</p><p>The king sighed. “Yes, I can see that.” His gaze wandered over the pair of them, and Jaskier found himself wishing the shirt were even longer. “Get those wounds bound properly, I think they may need stitches. I will send someone when my men return. I think you should be there for the trial.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jaskier agreed. Geralt just nodded once. The king turned and left, closing the door to the apartment to afford them a bit of privacy.</p><p>“I’ll send for the healer,” Vilhelm said.</p><p>“No need. I will see to it,” Geralt grunted. Jaskier found himself lifted and carried the few feet to the bed where Geralt settled him like he was made of blown glass. He snagged his bag that carried their medical supplies and pulled out the antiseptic, needle and thread. Jaskier winced in anticipation. He was used to being on the other end of the needle.</p><p>Curiously, as Geralt slid the needle in for the first stitch, his face creased as though it pained him, though he had never so much as blinked when Jaskier tended to his hurts.</p><p>Though he couldn’t keep from hissing a few times and flinching at least a little with each prick of the needle, Jaskier was quite proud of how well he held up. Geralt washed the last of the blood away and wound clean, white bandages around him to finish it off. Then he tilted Jaskier’s head back to examine the bruising there. “Stabbed and strangled?” he questioned.</p><p>“I woke up when he tried to cut my throat. My dagger wasn’t handy, and we didn’t bring a short sword for me, so I used the candlestick and knocked the dagger out of his hand. He knocked it out of my hand after, and while we struggled, I happened to see the hunting party return.” He nodded at the window. “I had to break the window somehow so you would hear me.”</p><p>“I wish you had managed to use his head instead,” Geralt grumbled.</p><p>“You have the upper body strength for that sort of thing, love, not me.” Jaskier flexed his arm a bit, testing his range of motion. The stitches didn’t pull in the slightest, though his arm hurt like crazy. He kissed Geralt reassuringly, wanting to ease the worried look from his eyes. “I’m okay,” he promised.</p><p>“Why did you wait so long to shift?” Geralt demanded.</p><p>“I wanted him caught, if possible. Once I called for you, I shifted. I knew you’d come.” He shrugged and regretted it. “If I hadn’t spotted you, I was going to make for the door. I didn’t want the shifting to get out, if I could help it.” He sighed. “That ship’s sailed though.”</p><p>“We can let it get around that you can only shift to the one other form,” Geralt suggested. “And you can practice a few others – you’ve been meaning to practice the hawk for some time. I like the idea of you flying out of range.”</p><p>“Alright – but you don’t get to laugh at me when I’m learning to fly,” Jaskier warned.</p><p>“I make no promises.”</p><p>Vilhelm cleared his throat. Jaskier looked over at him and found his uncle watching them with a rather sappy, emotional look on his face. “This is all quite lovely, but the king will expect you both at the trial. Julian, you should probably clean up and dress, and we’ll move your things to a room with an intact window, hmm?”</p><p>Jaskier realized then that though he was wearing Geralt’s shirt, the neckline gaped enough that Geralt had been able to just tug it down to do the stitches, and the love bites and matted hair on his chest were clearly visible. Hardly appropriate for going out in public, much less a royal trial. He tugged the shirt back into place and started to get up, but Geralt pushed him back down to the bed and just stared pointedly at Vilhelm until his uncle cleared his throat again and left, shutting the hallway door behind himself. Geralt fetched the water and cloth and started to clean Jaskier. While Jaskier had the urge to protest, he shoved it down forcefully. He knew too well what Geralt was feeling, and tending to Geralt when he was hurt, even when he was capable of doing so himself, made him feel better. If carrying him around and washing him like an invalid eased some of that unbearable anxiety and fear, then Jaskier would be carried and bathed. He wiggled into his trousers and boots, but left his doublet off. He wanted to keep Geralt’s shirt on, and with the laces tightened, at least his chest was mostly concealed. It left the bruises on his neck visible, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not when they were going to the trial of the man that had caused it.</p><p>Geralt’s fingers trailed once again over his neck. “Not as bad as when Rolf did it,” he muttered.</p><p>“No. It doesn’t hurt as much, and it doesn’t hurt to talk. I had better leverage to fight back this time.”</p><p>“We’re getting you your own sword as soon as we’re done here – and you’ll sleep with a dagger under your pillow,” Geralt instructed.</p><p>“Okay. Honestly, you know I usually have it right on me, love, it’s just –“</p><p>“I know. Guests of a king, you shouldn’t have had to worry. But we’re taking no chances, not ever again.”</p><p>“I agree,” Jaskier assured him. He let his forehead rest against Geralt’s, staring deeply into his eyes. “I love you. I don’t want you to worry more than needed – I promise, I’ll be careful. I won’t go anywhere without it, or even sleep without it.”</p><p>“Good. Now, let’s go see if a king can manage to actually mete out justice, hmm?”</p><p>“Alright.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt stuck to his side like glue, and Jaskier suspected it was only his need to keep his hand free for his sword that kept him from <em>carrying</em> Jaskier around. Vilhelm was waiting for them outside the apartment and fell into step as they emerged. The king was in the Great Hall, sitting on his throne, as guards and his father’s staff spilled through a portal into the room. Or rather, now that Jaskier looked more closely, <em>soldiers</em> spilled through with his father’s staff. The guard the king had spoken to had taken no chances, and the men wore the livery of the king’s army rather than household guard. Chairs had been set to the left of the king, and Marketh gestured for them to take them. Jaskier was safely sandwiched between his uncle and lover, and though his arm throbbed terribly, he was eager for the proceedings. Whatever happened here, he would finally and fully be done with his family – albeit in the worst way he could have imagined.</p><p>The last three to spill through the portal were his father, rumpled and flushed and spitting with fury, a man that Jaskier suspected as being the captain of the king’s guard – and likely a general in the army as well – and a red haired woman that Jaskier supposed was the mage. Geralt sucked in a breath when they came through and Jaskier looked at him to see him staring with a raised eyebrow at the woman. “No,” Jaskier hissed, too low for his uncle but perfectly audible to Geralt’s enhanced hearing. “Do <em>not</em> tell me you’ve been involved with another damned sorceress.” Geralt shot him a look that said ‘not the time’ and Jaskier shot him one back that he hoped conveyed ‘we are so having this conversation at the first opportunity’.</p><p>“Darius, did you collect everyone?” Marketh demanded.</p><p>“We combed every inch of the house and grounds, Your Majesty. We brought everyone, though the stable master mentioned a boy that left days ago in the company of the witcher and his lordship,” Darius nodded at him.</p><p>Marketh glanced at him in question. “A young lad who did his best to be helpful in our investigation. He was the only one willing to actually try to help, and I worried for his treatment if we left him behind. We took him to my uncle’s,” Jaskier told him.</p><p>“We may want to question him as well, but I think it can wait until later. Triss, I thank you for your assistance in this matter, I know you were in the middle of some research,” the king said.</p><p>“I am happy to help,” Triss acknowledged, bowing her head a little. “My research is not time sensitive, and this matter seemed important.” She glanced their way and nodded her head again. “I have worked with Geralt in the past, Your Majesty. I have always found him straightforward and honest to a fault. It is good to see you well, Geralt.”</p><p>“Triss,” Geralt greeted, rather warmly in fact. Jaskier frowned at her. For some reason, that seemed to amuse her.</p><p>“Reginold, your son brought me some very troubling information,” Marketh began, cutting off their little byplay.</p><p>Reginold snorted. “The boy is filled with lies and fairy stories,” he said contemptuously. He straightened as best he could with Darius gripping his arm. “He’s been a foolish, flighty dreamer since birth, dismissive of his duties, choosing to wander about and play music while warming the witcher’s bed. He returned only to try to claim the family fortune after his siblings and their families were cruelly murdered in their beds and his mother taken by the gods only know who. He brought that <em>mutant</em> into my home, made some pretense of investigating, and brought me one of the most outlandish stories it has been my misfortune to have to hear in all my life. I regret ever doing my duty and even sending words of the tragedy. When I told him he would have to set aside his inhuman lover and marry as proper, he refused and threatened to make claims to the throne that I am unfit for my station and duties – and it seems he has followed through on that deplorable threat. You have my deepest apologies that he has dragged Your Majesty into this wretched family affair and wasted your time. I should have disowned him years ago, but I supposed I foolishly hoped he would change and mature – a father’s sentimentality, I’m afraid.”</p><p>Jaskier would give his father credit for quick thinking. It wasn’t a bad story, all things considered. Remind everyone of his absence for years, the murders, Geralt’s technically inhuman status, get everyone’s sympathy. It wouldn’t prevent the humiliation of having himself and his entire household arrested and dragged in front of the court for trial, but if the king decided to believe it, he would keep his head.</p><p>“Interesting. And how do you explain the member of your household guard that attempted to assassinate your son under <strong>my</strong> roof?”</p><p>“I cannot, except to say that my staff has always been loyal. Perhaps he witnessed my grief and anger over Julian’s deplorable behavior and decided to take matters into his own hands rather than trusting to Your Majesty’s intelligence, experience, and wisdom to see the truth of things.”</p><p>“I see. And the claim that your wife was not human herself, but an elf?”</p><p>Reginold paused. “She appeared as human to me for the whole of our lives, Your Majesty. My father himself approved the match. How could I have known if she wasn’t who she said she was?”</p><p>“Ah. And so of course you had no idea that your son has the ability to alter his shape as a result of his mixed bloodline, and never suggested that he could be useful in spying on others for the gain of yourself and the Pankratz family.”</p><p>“Of course not, My Lord! I’ve never heard of such an ability!” Reginold explained.</p><p>Jaskier didn’t like the speculative look the mage was giving him and leaned a little closer to Geralt. It was already taking all he had not to shout down his father’s lies.</p><p>“And yet I have seen that ability for myself, when we returned from a most successful and enjoyable hunt to be alerted to the attempted murder. I entered a room behind the witcher and saw a giant snow leopard go from pinning a man by the throat to becoming a man himself. Some of your son’s words to me are true,” Marketh pointed out. “That leads one to wonder if all of the are true.”</p><p>“My son never showed a hint of such an ability while he was growing up. Perhaps, Your Majesty, this is not even my son at all, but some foul creature that has taken his likeness,” Reginold suggested, almost desperately.</p><p>Jaskier felt his mouth drop open in shock. He couldn’t believe…but then, it was hardly the most shocking of his father’s crimes.</p><p>“If I may, Your Majesty,” Triss interjected. “There is indeed a type of monster that can alter their form – dopplers. They must consume at least some of the flesh of the one whose form they wish to use, and this creates the ability for them to share in the memories of that person. But, like all non-human monsters, they are vulnerable to silver. Geralt has his silver sword now. Perhaps if the young man would touch it, we could see for ourselves whether he is a doppler or not.”</p><p>Marketh shrugged. “Witcher, the sword if you would. No need to run him through, of course. Julian need only touch the blade.”</p><p>Geralt, with an air that said he was only too happy to pull his blade, withdrew it from the scabbard on his back and laid the naked blade across Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier had touched the blade quite often over the years, and often polished it when Geralt was tired. He laid his hands on the blade for several seconds, then held them up for everyone to see the unmarked skin. The king nodded and turned his attention back to his father. Habit kicked in, and Jaskier polished the hand prints from the blade with his sleeve. One or two people watching from behind the line of soldiers tittered in amusement, alerting him to what he was doing. A little sheepishly, he folded his hands on his lap.</p><p>“Well, even if he is not one of these dopplers, that does not mean he is my son! Someone who can change their appearance at will? Who knows who that really is!”</p><p>Triss shrugged rather elegantly. “If Your Majesty will allow, perhaps I can answer that question. It is often not difficult to get inside another’s mind – and if Julian will permit it as well. It may not be difficult, but it is still rather rude.”</p><p>Jaskier looked first to Geralt, who nodded ever so slightly. Licking his lips, he looked at Triss and nodded. She walked over and looked deeply into his eyes. He felt caught, like he was mired in thick honey, unable to look away. As hard as he could, he thought only of his childhood under the fist of the man on trial, and when the shapeshifting teased at the edges of his thoughts, thought only of the leopard form. He didn’t know how much she could see, he could only hope it wasn’t too much. Or that if it was, that she had the discretion and could be trusted to keep it all to herself.</p><p>Triss turned away and Jaskier blinked rapidly to wet his dry eyes. “This is Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of Reginold and Chandrelle Pankratz, known more commonly as Jaskier the bard, graduate of Oxenfurt,” she declared. “He is able to take but two other forms – a snowy leopard and a common barn cat. It could be argued that it’s the same basic form, just a variation in size, but I’m not sure now is the time for that debate.” She smiled a little winsomely at the king. Her gaze hardened as she turned it on his father. “I could also see how he suffered under your hand as a child. All he has told His Majesty is the truth, and at that, he spared the details of his treatment at your hands and focused only on your current crimes and failures. I do believe there are laws in this kingdom against beating children, which you violated for no reason at all.”</p><p>“Tell me, mage,” Marketh said thoughtfully, ignoring Reginold’s sputtering denials. “Are there any methods to wring truth from an unwilling throat? I would have all hear his crimes from his own mouth, if possible.”</p><p>“Indeed, Your Majesty. When I heard there was to be a trial, I set to brewing the potion in the event it would be needed. There is, I think, enough for all here.” Her gaze was decidedly unfriendly as it swept over the staff and guards from his father’s house. She produced a rather small vial. With the assistance of the king’s soldiers, she went down the line of prisoners and placed a drop from the vial on each tongue. One by one, faces went slack and vague. One by one, the king asked each person about crimes they had committed on behalf of his father or crimes they’d known about and kept silent. Jaskier was honestly a little surprised how many of them truly hadn’t known about the actual crimes – though the older staff all knew about his own neglect and abuse, though most hadn’t known it was an actual crime. But then, neither had Jaskier. Only Crighton and the higher ranking guards had truly had an idea of the true breadth and scope of his father’s actions over the years, how many people he’d blackmailed, how many other’s he’d had killed. But only Crichton and Reginold had known of his mixed blood, and how much his mother's clan truly hated humans. Thankfully, the potion induced truthfulness, but it didn’t seem to induce verbosity – whoever was answering answered only what was asked and volunteered nothing extra, so his father did not say anything that could jeopardize Jaskier’s carefully crafted story and expose the shapeshifting gift that most of the elves shared.</p><p>The entire ordeal took quite some time, so that by the time the king finished questioning his father, Jaskier actually thought his legs were going numb from sitting so long, and the potion seemed to be wearing off. The slack looks were fading into expressions of fear and horror around the edges, as most recalled what they’d revealed and knew they were likely doomed, one way or another. The king pronounced sentences. For those that had known nothing at all of his father’s crimes, they were to be allowed back to the house to await the new lord’s decision on their place and employment. Various prison sentences or fines were handed to those that had known but not participated in crimes, depending on the severity of what they’d known. For the participants, there were prison sentences <em>and</em> fines, except for those that had participated in murders. For those, he pronounced death sentences. Crichton received a death sentence.</p><p>His father, however, did not. Marketh waiting until full awareness returned to his father’s face before pronouncing his sentence. “You have betrayed the honor of your family, your oaths to crown and country, over and over again. You have blackmailed and killed and attempted to commit filicide. You knowingly had children with an elf and refused to tell your children of their parentage, depriving them of the ability to make an informed decision about having children of their own knowing the risk of birth defects. At every turn, your sole concern was for your own power and gain, not the good of the people you are supposed to be responsible for, not for your oath to the crown, not even for the health and wellbeing of your own kin. You are utterly unfit to wear the title that was your birthright. That title now belongs to your brother Vilhelm, along with all the wealth, lands, and holdings that go with it. It should, by rights, go to Julian, but for a variety of extremely good reasons, he has decided he does not wish it, and I have chosen to grant that request. Further, you are to be branded across the face as a traitor and set loose.” Marketh smiled thinly. “Death would be swifter, I’m sure. I think it only justice for those you have so greatly wronged for you to wander the world an outcast, a lowly beggar living in squalor and filth, hoping for the good nature and charity of others which you have apparently been born entirely without. Any person caught attempting to give you succor will be given ten lashes on bare skin, regardless of rank.” He gestured at the soldiers to take away the various prisoners, many of whom were crying, while his father screamed incoherent insults and pleas through a beet red face, veins and eyes bulging with his rage and fear.</p><p>Jaskier watched him go, not sure what he was feeling. He hadn’t anticipated the branding, which he found to be cruel and barbaric practice. Truthfully, he’d thought his father would be beheaded, which at least was quick, and he’d only even considered <em>that</em> after the attempt on his life. He had only expected the stripping of the title and wealth, which would have satisfied him. He could even have been satisfied if his father retained both but lost all his standing and influence. But his father, arrogant, intelligent, powerful, and even elegant in his way, would be branded like cattle and left to wander the world with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever few practical skills he might actually possess. Jaskier couldn’t guess at that – <strong>he</strong> certainly had been shy of survival skills when he’d left Oxenfurt. If not for watching and learning from Geralt, he would have starved or frozen to death a long time ago.</p><p>Geralt nudged him and Jaskier tuned back into the king, busy addressing the remaining members of the audience.</p><p>“Our hunt this morning for the boar that has been plaguing travelers on the north road was successful – thanks to our witcher friend. That was reason enough to celebrate, but tonight we have even more cause to do so. We have rid our country of a cancer that has been poisoning us for far too long. Tonight, we honor Julian Alfred Pankratz, known across the continent itself as Jaskier. His honor was strong enough to make him do what was right, even in the face of turning his own father in. He is an example to us all. Jaskier, tonight you shall be the guest of honor.” The king gestured grandly to him and the assemble courtiers clapped loudly, even the dullest amongst them able to grab the rather large hint the king was throwing.</p><p>Jaskier summoned a modest smile and mouthed the appropriate demure words, and was grateful when Geralt was able to drag him out as soon as the king turned to more serious matters with his uncle. He met Geralt’s eyes with his own wide ones. “Fuck,” he said succinctly.</p><p>A servant was quick to locate them and lead them to a new apartment, where a tailor was already waiting. Jaskier wasn’t sure if this was the outcome the king had planned all along or if the man was just prudently reading the way the wind was blowing, and supposed it didn’t much matter. He suffered through being measured, enjoyed the attempts to measure a less cooperative Geralt, and firmly gave orders for both sets of clothes to be with minimal frills and devoid of the current fashion of shiny useless buttons everywhere. That was more than even he could take, and Geralt would go naked before he’d be seen by anyone with decorations like that.</p><p>They finally got rid of the man, who would no doubt have half a dozen assistants working feverishly to modify clothing to have it ready in time for the night’s feast. Jaskier pitied the assistants – his measurements were just about average, but getting clothes to fit Geralt’s shoulders would take some work.</p><p>Once alone, Jaskier moved immediately into Geralt’s arms and let his head fall to his shoulder. Geralt’s arms went around him, strong as always, and Jaskier closed his eyes and just breathed. “Do you think we even know all his crimes, even now?”</p><p>“Probably not,” Geralt allowed. “And from what I could gather, he learned his ways at his father’s knee – one does not scheme as he did at sixteen without tutelage.”</p><p>Jaskier shuddered. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, love, but I am so glad you’re sterile. There’s too much bad blood in my veins – I never want to find out if it breeds true.”</p><p>“Fluff, I hate to break it to you, but we’re both men. Even if I weren’t sterile, I don’t think it would be an issue.”</p><p>Jaskier poked him in the belly. “Occasionally I have a vagina, remember? I’ve no cause to think I’m sterile.” Geralt went oddly still and Jaskier lifted his head. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing, I just. I hadn’t considered that. You probably <em>could</em> bear a child if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”</p><p>“But I don’t want to. I never really did, and even less so now. Ciri is enough – more than enough. I’m not a paternal sort of person. And I really…it’s just my uncle that gives me some hope, that we’re not all inherently born wrong. I’ve not heard anything about any of his kids either.”</p><p>“See? It’s nothing to do with who you’re born to, Jas. <strong>You</strong> are a good person, even though your parents aren’t.” Geralt cupped his face. “Never think something like that again,” he ordered. “You survived that barren hellscape you grew up in and you moved on to teach an emotionally stunted, stubborn fool of a witcher how to love. No one else could have done that.”</p><p>“It wasn’t so difficult. You’re easy to love.” Geralt snorted at him. “You are,” Jaskier insisted. “Oh, I admit, it was a bit of a challenge in the early days, trying to parse out your different grunts and shrugs, but just watching you long enough showed me who you really are, and you are so very easy to love.” A knock sounded at their door and a light, feminine voice called out, “Geralt? I would like to speak with you, if you’ve a moment!” and Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Although your penchant for witches is a bit of a challenge,” he finished in a low hiss. “Honestly, Geralt, <em>another</em> one? I’ve barely made peace with the first! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please tell me you didn’t sleep with her too? Witches are not very sane!”</p><p>“I didn’t sleep with her,” Geralt assured him. “Although that is a bit rich coming from you. How many cuckolds did I have to save you from over the years?”</p><p>“None of them ever threatened to cut off your cock and kill you! Nor did they ever attempt to enchant either of us into their personal love puppets!”</p><p>“Fair enough. But Triss isn’t like that. She helped me with the striga some years back. I told you about that.”</p><p>“You didn’t mention the mage was an incredibly beautiful woman. I was picturing some bearded old man all this time,” Jaskier argued.</p><p>“She’s just a friend, I promise. Can I go open the door?”</p><p>Jaskier sniffed and nodded. “Alright – but I reserve the right to claw something vital if she attempts to cut any bits of me off.”</p><p>“She won’t,” Geralt promised. He went to open the door to reveal a somewhat amused Triss waiting. “Triss, it’s good to see you again. How did you come to be in Kerack instead of Temeria?”</p><p>Triss walked in and nodded to Jaskier as Geralt shut the door again. “King Marketh has been permitting me to stay on a temporary basis. I am researching certain plants that grow at the northern end of Brokilon forest. In return, I agreed to serve as his mage until a new one is chosen. If I finish my research or a new mage is posted here, I will return to King Foltest. It is good to see you well, Geralt. Jaskier, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your songs are quite popular.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier said, admittedly a little stiffly. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to take offense.</p><p>“I wanted to speak with you both privately. I don’t believe Marketh quite believed me when I said you were limited in what shapes you could take, nor that the ability was a freak accident as a result of your mixed birth.”</p><p>Jaskier shifted a bit behind Geralt. He didn’t like the speculative look in her eyes. “Triss, what are you talking about?” Geralt asked in a warning tone.</p><p>She held up her hand in a placating gesture. “I am friends with Dahlia. We share an interest in the various properties of plants. Her experiments in splicing different species together are fascinating – but not why I’m here. I already knew of the clan of elves that lives in the forest, as well as their unique ability, as Dahlia does. I believe one or two others know as well among the Brotherhood. But the elves there have always shunned contact with outsiders and have never caused a problem before. They have never before left their forest. We have been content with leaving them alone. And neither of us are interested in any sort of experiments on you, Jaskier. You need not fear that from us. But I would recommend you find an excuse to leave Kerack. Marketh’s dislike of non-humans is equaled only by his fascination with them. He is attracted to that which he loathes. Your ability has piqued his interest, and he is as ruthless as your father.”</p><p>Jaskier winced. “Fuck. Geralt?”</p><p>“We’ll leave tomorrow. Triss, will he suspect you warned us?”</p><p>“That does not matter, he cannot hurt me. But probably. Once you are out of Kerack, you should be fine. With Nilfgaard looking north again, he will have other concerns, and whatever suspicions he may have about you will have to be set aside. Temeria has been looking for a witcher recently anyway – a wyvern has been causing problems near Lake Vizima. It’s a reasonable excuse to leave in the morning, and a plausible enough reason for me to speak with you.”</p><p>Geralt turned and gave him a warning look. “You will not leave my side tonight,” he ordered.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me twice! I will be glad to have Kerack behind us,” Jaskier said fervently.</p><p>Triss nodded approvingly. “Good. Servants will be bringing a bath shortly for you, by the way.” Her nostrils flared a little. “Be careful, and enjoy the feast if you can. I’m told the cooks here are actually quite good at preparing wild boar. I will see you later.” She left with an odd little smirk on her face.</p><p>“I think she just said we stink,” Jaskier observed. He tucked his nose inside his shirt – Geralt’s shirt, really – and sniffed. He grimaced. “Okay, yeah. The wash earlier didn’t really do as much as I thought.”</p><p>“I like the way you smell.” Geralt moved to pull the shirt out again and sniffed audibly. “You smell like you’re mine.”</p><p>“I am yours. But I also stink like old sex, which is decidedly less pleasant than recent sex. And I didn’t like the way the king looked at us earlier, so I don’t want to give him cause for comment later. I want to get through this and get out without any more fuss or drama. And preferably not actually fleeing for our lives.”</p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>Soon after, the promised bath arrived, brought by an army of servants carrying a huge tub and dozens of buckets of steaming water. Once it was filled and Geralt had glared the servants back out, Jaskier let him help him strip and remove the bandages over his stitches. They eased into the water and Jaskier relaxed as Geralt carefully washed him with their own unscented soap. He wouldn’t let Jaskier return the favor, ordering him not to lift his wounded arm over his head, and scrubbed himself with economical motions. Jaskier stretched his legs out as much as he could. It was a large bath, but not a patch on what Kaer Morhen offered, so his knees were still bent and stuck up out of the water.</p><p>Once the water went cold, they climbed out and dried off, dressing again in just pants as they waited for whatever the tailors produced for them. Jaskier shamelessly pushed Geralt onto the short couch in front of the fireplace and sprawled all over him again. Geralt didn’t seem to mind and just held him close. Jaskier wasn’t quite dozing, but was somewhere close to it, when Geralt announced, “You would be a good parent, Jas. No child of yours would ever turn out like your father and siblings. There’s not a drop of bad blood in you, I don’t want you thinking there is.”</p><p>Jaskier blinked at him, suddenly wide awake. For several long moments, he could only stare at him with wide eyes and a lump in his throat. When he could finally speak, he could only manage, “You darling man, I love you so much. Never leave me.”</p><p>“Never,” Geralt promised. They kissed, slow and sweet, until Jaskier shifted wrong and bumped his injured arm, and hissed with the renewed pain. Geralt fussed on him, checking his stitches and shifting them about so that his arm was resting on Geralt’s chest rather than tucked to the side.</p><p>Eventually, the tailor returned with two sets of clothing that looked decent enough. Jaskier was dressed in a blue that was a close match to his eyes, and Geralt, to Jaskier’s amusement and Geralt’s frustration, was clothed in shades of cream and gold, also a match to his eyes, and a massive departure from his normal shades of black or dark gray. It did look quite good on him, but Jaskier refrained from mentioning that, instead reminding him that it was for a few hours only and then he could be back in his leather.</p><p>They were seated again near the king, though Jaskier was the one directly next to him this time. The boar had been roasted beautifully, and though the room had to sit and hear the tale of how Geralt had literally sniffed out the creature and slain it with one blow with no help from the hunters or the dogs, it was worth the wait. Less pleasing was having to carefully navigate the king’s probes into his abilities, how he’d come to learn of them, what the limitations were. Eventually Jaskier was able to drive the conversation around to Geralt and the various hunts that Jaskier had witnessed over the years, which proved a nice segue into their need to leave early the next day for a wyvern in Temeria. Marketh tried to coerce Jaskier into remaining at court while Geralt went and took care of the beast on his own, but Jaskier was able to shoot that down without causing offense. It was an exhausting night, and he was immensely grateful when it ended and he was able to escape back to the apartment with Geralt.</p><p>They packed as soon as they were back, making sure all their belongings were accounted for and untampered, so they could leave at first light. Their distrust of the king’s intentions was strong enough that Geralt remained awake through the night, though he insisted that Jaskier get his own rest. He didn’t sleep terribly well, but it was enough that he’d be fine for travel since Rascal would do the bulk of the work. Somewhat disturbingly, the king was waiting to see them off the next morning. Once again, they had to fend off attempts to get Jaskier to remain behind, and Triss’ arrival helped to silence him. She presented Geralt with a vial of Golden Oriole under the pretext that he would require it to fight the wyvern, and pressed clean bandages and a couple potions on Jaskier ‘for when the great brute gets himself injured and you have to piece him back together again’, since much of their argument for why Jaskier absolutely had to accompany Geralt on such a dangerous mission was that Jaskier had become quite specialized in treating witchers over the years.</p><p>They thanked the king profusely for his hospitality and fair judgement, made vague indications of returning when Geralt’s Path brought them near enough, and mounted their horses to finally make their escape. Jaskier regretted not being able to bid his uncle a proper fairwell, but consoled himself with the thought of sending a message when he had the first opportunity. A wyvern, after all, was a very dangerous creature and delaying would cost lives.</p><p>He breathed a little easier when the city was firmly out of sight at their backs, though they didn’t slow their pace. He was so focused on checking behind them for signs of pursuit, though, that the figure that dashed out in front of them startled both himself and Rascal enough that he nearly lost his seat when his horse reared in shock. Geralt kept his seat much better, and Roach simply danced in place when he pulled her to a stop to avoid trampling the man. He drew his sword instantly, and it wasn’t until Jaskier got Rascal calmed again that he realized why: his father, forehead newly branded with the word ‘traitor’, clothing already dirty and worse for wear, stood with a heaving chest in the middle of the road and a heavy branch clutched in his hands. His eyes were wild, not really sane, and hate suffused his features.</p><p>“You miserable little shit,” he snarled, advancing towards Jaskier, apparently oblivious to the danger that was the angry witcher with drawn sword. “We should have drowned you at birth! This is <strong>all</strong> your fault! If you had done as you were told, none of this would have happened. If you had been a good son, a proper son, we would still have everything! Your siblings would be alive, your mother still at my side, we would have power over this entire country!  <em>You ruined everything! I won’t let you get away with destroying our family!”</em> He swung the branch wildly, and though Rascal reared and danced backwards in alarm, the branch never actually got close enough to make contact. Geralt swung and chopped it off just in front of his father’s grip. A second swing took off his right hand.</p><p>All of them froze and stared at the spurting stump. After a good half a minute, his father screamed his agony and clutched the stump to his chest. He fell to his knees and groped for the severed appendage, still screaming. Geralt was unmoved. “You destroyed your family. If you attempt to go near Jaskier again, I will cut off something else. Crawl back into the dirt and shadows – that is where you belong.”</p><p>Reginold dropped his severed hand and instead covered his bleeding stump in an effort to staunch the flow. More than a little dazed, Jaskier tossed him a handkerchief. His father snatched it up from the dirt and wrapped it clumsily around his stump. His screaming finally stopped and he just stared at them. Geralt reached for Jaskier’s reins and led him around the fallen man to continue down the road.</p><p>After about an hour, Jaskier finally found his voice again. “He’s likely to get an infection and die,” he observed.</p><p>“Yes. I’m not sorry,” Geralt told him.</p><p>Jaskier thought about that. “I’m not sure I am either. It will be quicker than the slow wasting he was likely facing anyway, though not pleasant or easy at all.” He considered everything again for a while. “This was not the outcome I expected when we set out. But I think it’s the best it could have been, all things considered.”</p><p>“All things considered,” Geralt agreed.</p><p>They continued to ride until they crossed the border into Temeria. They continued after that as well, but Geralt allowed their pace to slow to spare the horses. They topped a rise and Jaskier looked back. In the distance, he could just make out the line of trees that was Brokilon forest. Part of him wanted to turn back, ride to the edge of the forest and scream until his mother showed herself. He didn’t know if she knew the fate of her children and grandchildren, though he was sure she didn’t know the fate of the human husband she had taken and helped in all his scheming, and wanted to rub her face in that much, at least. He wanted to shake the tiny blanket stuffed at the very bottom of his saddlebag at her. But whether she knew of the deaths or not, he was quite sure she would be unmoved. Her only regret would be her failure, not the lost lives. Her plan had been frankly stupid from the start, but she would never admit that, nor admit that the deaths were her fault for hiding the truth from her children all those years.</p><p>He resolutely turned his back to the forest again. If he never saw her again, he would count himself blessed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Triss kept her gaze on the king as Geralt and his lover rode out of the stables and towards the road leading to Temeria. The wyvern was real enough, though the creature seemed rather old and had thus far only preyed on slower livestock. Geralt would not find the hunt difficult. Marketh, for a moment, showed his frustration as the bard moved out of sight, but wiped his face clear in an instant. “You wanted to keep the bard here quite badly, especially for someone with such a distaste for non-humans.”</p><p>“He is beautiful and talented, and in spite of his regrettable bloodlines, he was raised human and a noble on top of that. He would be a welcome addition to any court,” Marketh said smoothly. He started to turn away, but with a gesture, Triss held him in place. “Mage,” he said in a warning tone. “You are stepping out of your place.”</p><p>“You know nothing of my place,” she told him. “You are but a simple king. Your place in history is fleeting, naught but a footnote in a grander tale. If you attempt a greater place in this story, you will find your tale cut yet shorter than it otherwise would be. I would be remiss in my duty if I should allow that.” She pulled a small vial from the pouch at her waist and unstoppered it. The king had little choice except to inhale the scent when she held it beneath his nose, and his features went slack, eyes glazed over. With his mind and his memories pliable, she whispered to him. “Julian Alfred Pankratz is a bard of great talent. His ability to change shape is limited to that of a cat, both large and small, nothing more. You approve of the honor that drove him to turn in his father for his behavior, and you have no interest in him beyond that of his singing now that the issue of succession is taken care of. You will not have him followed, nor will you exert any influence on his uncle or remaining family to bring him back to Kerack.” Marketh hummed his easy agreement and Triss gave it a few moments more for the rearrangement of memory, thought, and desire to settle in, then corked the vial and stepped back. When his eyes began to clear she spoke again. “Geralt has certainly changed a bit, from last we met. His bard has been good for him. He is open to affection now. Though it certainly has not seemed to dull his abilities at all, as I am sure he once worried it would.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Marketh said, still slightly dazed. “I suppose that is good for him, then. Julian seems remarkably talented. It is an odd pairing, to be sure, but they seem to make it work well enough. Do you think I was too lenient with the father? I had thought at first to just strip his title from him, but he did dare to try to have someone killed under my roof – I couldn’t exactly let that go, but to kill a noble could set a bad precedent.”</p><p>“I think you acted justly, Your Majesty. Reginold Pankratz will suffer for his mistakes for some time. If he is wise, he will leave Kerack. I doubt he has the skills to survive on his own.”</p><p>“Don’t be too sure of that. he had accompanied me on hunts in the past, if he is able to get his hands on a bow or knife, he should do fine. Our nobles are not so soft as all that, here.”</p><p>Triss very much doubted that but held her tongue. Better for the matter to be dropped rather than letting the king think about it too hard. When the king spoke no further of the subject, the court would follow suit, and soon enough, the Pankratz scandal would be a minor anecdote – that was best for everyone. Especially the king and Jaskier. Marketh had been considering some very unwholesome fantasies about the bard, which Jaskier would not have survived emotionally intact. The king would not have survived at all, once Geralt got ahold of him. Much better for all if this was largely forgotten.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt found them a place to camp as sunset neared. They still had a few days’ travel to reach the lake, but they’d come far enough from the border and the forest that he felt comfortable enough to stop. The horses were left to eat their fill of the sweet early summer grass, while Jaskier laid out their bedroll and Geralt dug a small pit for a cookfire. Once the fire was crackling merrily, he vanished into the trees for a few minutes and returned with a pair of pheasants. Jaskier’s eyes lit up – pheasant was a favorite of his, even unseasoned. He joined in as readily as always to prepare the meat for the spit, humming an unfamiliar tune. He seemed almost naked to Geralt without his lute, but even that lack would not stop his composing.</p><p>Once the meat was cooking, with Jaskier humming and tending to it so that it wouldn’t burn, Geralt dug deep into his pack and pulled out the xenovox. Jaskier’s eyes locked on the little box, bright with surprise and curiosity as he opened it and spoke Yennefer’s name.</p><p>Within moments, she answered. “Geralt? Do you need help?”</p><p>“No, Yen. I just wanted to get you all caught up. We have found out who the murderers were and we’ve taken care of the problem. How is everything there?”</p><p>“Fine. Ciri has been anxious for word, so she’ll be glad you’ve checked in. Are you planning to return?”</p><p>“No. There’s a wyvern at Lake Vizima that needs dealing with. I’m not comfortable bringing Ciri on a hunt for a wyvern, but once that is taken care of, I’ll look for something a little less dangerous, if you’re still willing to portal her to us.”</p><p>“Of course. I should probably let you know that Eskel and Lambert have stayed on, waiting for word, and are likely to stick to her side like they’ve been glued there.” She paused. “Lambert has been practicing his little harp. You may want to warn Jaskier, I think he wants to perform for him when next they meet.”</p><p>Jaskier grinned at him while turning the pheasants. “Told you!” he mouthed. Geralt rolled his eyes.</p><p>“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Any other news?”</p><p>“That’s about it. Let me know if you need help with the wyvern.” The light inside the his xenovox went out, indicating the severed connection. Geralt scowled at it briefly – as if one wyvern was something he’d ever need help with – then stuffed it back down to the bottom of his pack again.</p><p>He moved to sit beside Jaskier at the fire and his lover immediately wormed under his arm. Geralt let his hand fall to his hip, thumb rubbing idle circles through his trousers. The scent of grief and guilt was fading from him, finally, which was a relief. He had worried for a moment that Jaskier would be upset when he’d cut off his father’s hand, especially when he’d stayed quiet for so long afterwards, but there had been no recriminations for the action. And with the whole matter settled, the grief that had been ever present in Jaskier’s normally sweet scent was fading. Geralt was determined that nothing was going to upset Jaskier again.</p><p>Jaskier reached out to rotate the pheasant again and sighed, sounding contented. “I love pheasant,” he confided, as he had done numerous times in the past. He pulled Geralt’s hand up to drop a kiss in his palm. “Thanks, love.”</p><p>“My pleasure, fluff.” Jaskier kept hold of his hand, playing with his fingers absently. “When we finish with the wyvern, we need to find a reason for Yen to bring Ciri to us, even if it’s not a hunt. You need your lute.”</p><p>“I do miss it, but I’m glad I didn’t take it with us. It would not have fared well in that house. But oh! Actually, if we’re going to Vizima, there’s a decent luthier there I might stop in and see. It was good to play some other instruments again – I rather miss playing the violin. I’m sure I’m terribly rusty, it’s been more than a decade since I’ve played, but it’s a very versatile instrument.” Geralt listened as his lover extolled the virtues of the other instrument while their supper finished cooking. It was blessedly normal chatter, soothing in its way, an indication that they were returning to their normal. Nilfgaard was still a worry, but it was a distant one right then.</p><p>After they ate, Jaskier pulled him to lay down on their bedroll so Jaskier could use his arm as a pillow as he stared up at the emerging stars, bright and clear so far from any town. He talked about the different constellations and their stories, singing snatches of songs that went with them until Geralt had to roll to his side and kiss him senseless. Jaskier laughed up into his mouth, bright and happy as he hadn’t been for weeks.</p><p>~</p><p>Triss watched the king through the rest of the day to make sure his rearranged thoughts didn’t start to slide back into old patterns. The early hours afterwards were the most dangerous, as a stray comment could spark something, but fortunately, the court and all attached seemed to think the lack of commentary about the whole affairs was a command of sorts and followed suit.  When the king was safely abed, she returned to her borrowed stillroom and pulled our her xenovox.</p><p>“Yennefer, have a you a moment?”</p><p>Yennefer answered quickly. “Hello, Triss. I just finished speaking to Geralt. I take it the entire affair has been dealt with? He seems confident enough, though he didn’t share any details.”</p><p>“Hmm, well, he wouldn’t. Not by xenovox, anyway, and not unless he really needed to. There <em>is</em> one loose end that he is not in a position to take care of.” Triss filled her in on all the details.</p><p>A man’s voice answered when she’d finished. “Why the fuck didn’t Geralt go and deal with the elves? Or let that king do it?”</p><p>“Sorry, that is Lambert,” Yennefer explained. “He’s short on manners, but he makes a fair point.”</p><p>“The oath. It works both ways,” Triss explained. “If they enter Brokilon, it breaks. If they try to hunt down the elves, it breaks. If they expose the secret of the shapeshifting to the continent, it breaks. It would leave them open for the rest of the clan to hunt Jaskier down. Technically, however Jaskier felt about it, they didn’t violate the oath when they killed his family and took his mother back.”</p><p>Lambert grunting audibly. “Well, none of that shit applies to me, right? As long as they don’t ask me to do it?”</p><p>Triss smiled. “Is that an offer?”</p><p>“Not sure I want those fuckers free to cause problems again. It stresses those two out which stresses Ciri out,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Well, if you’d like to have a conversation with them about their actions, I know where their enclave is hidden in the forest. I would have no objections to guiding you there,” she offered.</p><p>There was several moments of silence, and then a portal opened up in her stillroom. A very large man stepped out, not quite as big as Geralt, and lacking the strange white hair that marked the other witcher. He had short cropped dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that was set in what seemed like a permanent scowl, with a wolf pendant identical to Geralt’s on his chest. She smiled a welcome and spoke into the box. “Not coming along, Yen?”</p><p>“No, I’ll let you two play. Ciri and I are working on summoning fire today.”</p><p>“Ah. Have fun.” The light died as the connection was severed so Triss tucked the box away. “My name is Triss Merigold, sir witcher. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>Lambert blinked at her a couple times. “It is?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Where are these elves?”</p><p>“Brokilon forest. Would you prefer to ride or portal?”</p><p>“Didn’t bring my horse, so portal.”</p><p>“We would have the pick of the king’s stable,” she offered.</p><p>Lambert snorted. “Ain’t gonna trust a horse I’ve never ridden before going into battle. My own two legs will be just fine.”</p><p>“Very well.” Triss collected a couple things and tucked them into the pouch at her waist, then raised her hand. Lambert grunted and walked through. Triss followed and let the portal collapse.  The path she’d been using to enter Brokilon loomed in front of them, as dark and forboding as the elves could make it. They’d been aware of her presence since the beginning, but had seemed to be content to let her collect her specimens largely unmolested. Lambert put his hand on his medallion and glared at the forest.</p><p>“Shit load of magic there,” he observed.</p><p>Triss started to walk and he fell into step beside her. “Yes, the elves have used a number of spells to discourage visitors. Effective for ordinary travelers, but for mages and, I would wager, witchers, the very strength of the magic is telling.” Lambert just grunted his agreement.</p><p>They walked for some time in silence. The further they went, the more the magic tried to get them confused and turned around. Lambert put his head down mulishly as they forged ahead, ignoring the heavy feeling of unwelcome. Triss judged them to be quite close to the enclave itself when an arrow whistled through the air and was cut down by Lambert’s sword before it could embed itself in her chest. Well, she’d been ready to stop it herself, but he’d been just a fraction quicker, and she wasn’t one to turn down someone saving her life. “Thank you,” she murmured.</p><p>“Welcome.” Lambert held up a hand and flames danced at his fingertips. “Get your pointy fucking eared selves out here, elves, or I’ll just burn down the entire fucking forest,” he yelled. “I’m especially wanting Aelrindel and Chandrelle!”</p><p>Triss held up her hands as well, creating a strong tiny whirlwind that swirled between her palms. “I will make certain to feed his flames,” she promised. “Some may survive, but your home most certainly will not!”</p><p>After a few moments, several elves stepped into view. Her gaze zeroed in on a male and female in the center. There was a similarity in facial structure between them that spoke of blood relations, and the woman very clearly had been where Jaskier had gotten his hair and eyes and some of his fine boned features. Though Jaskier was clearly a human version of her, this had to be his mother. “Your people have committed a crime against humans,” she said crisply.</p><p>“Who the fuck was it?” Lambert demanded. “Sixteen people are dead, including six children. You can either hand me the murderers, or I start killing everyone until you do. Which is it?”</p><p>“What are you talking about, witcher?” Chandrelle spat. “There have been no murders.”</p><p>“The death of an animal or monster is hardly considered murder,” Aelrindel added. Chandrelle gave him a sharp look.</p><p>Triss ignored him to stare at her. “Your children, your five eldest, were killed the night you vanished from your marital home. Their spouses were also killed, as well as all your grandchildren. How do you not know this?”</p><p>“They were <em>not</em> killed,” Chandrelle denied. “My brother and my people called me home. I’m sure my children were confused, but they weren’t murdered.”</p><p>“Their throats cut while they lay sleeping in their beds. Your youngest son and his witcher investigated. Geralt was able to smell the intruders within the rooms in spite of the blood left to rot the walls and beds. There was also a witness who saw four cats running towards the house that night.” She looked pointedly at the man standing next to her. “Other than dopplers, who would have no reason to do so, and are solitary by nature, no other race has the ability to take other forms. Not without a curse at work, at least.”</p><p>Chandrelle turned on her brother. “Is this true?” she hissed. “Did you kill my children, my grandchildren?”</p><p>Aelrindel shrugged. “Yes. They were abominations. Filthy halfbreeds that should never have been born to begin with. We could not touch the last of them thanks to that infernal oath, but we could remove <em>most</em> of your mistakes.”</p><p>“You fool!” Chandrelle screamed. She struck her brother a fairly decent blow. “They were to be our future! My husband was but a few short years and a marriage or two away from having total control of that country! One more generation and one of my grandchildren would have been on that miserable little throne. We would have gotten our home back. More than forty years living with the vermin, <em>breeding</em> with them, to restore so much of our territory, and you ruined it!”</p><p>Aelrindel turned and slapped her right back. “You polluted yourself and our bloodline,” he snarled. “The humans will destroy themselves. We need only wait.”</p><p>“Who was there that night, Chandrelle?” Triss demanded.</p><p>She glared hate at her brother, then abruptly turned and pointed at three of the archers that surrounded them. She finished by pointing at her brother. “Those four. Those are the ones that killed my family and ruined our future. Do as you will with them – I don’t care! When they are dead, I will return to my husband and we will plan anew.”</p><p>Lambert did not waste any time. With remarkable speed, he threw himself at the targeted elves, arrows bouncing off the magical shield he’d raised around himself, and sent three heads rolling in quick succession. Then he turned on Aelrindel, who yanked his sister in front of himself as the rest of the watching elves abandoned their bows in favor of swords.</p><p>Triss added her magic to the fray, cutting down attackers so that Lambert would not get overwhelmed, though he hardly seemed to need the assistance. She had seen <em>some</em> of what witchers were capable of when Geralt had freed the princess of her curse, though she had not seen the combat itself that night. But if violence could be considered poetry, then Lambert was the embodiment of it. He moved with speed, grace, and agility, and soon more than a dozen extra bodies littered the forest floor. It was unbelievably quick, and it made her wonder if perhaps just a handful of witchers could be enough to take out an entire army – if so, it was probably a very good thing they stayed neutral in the affairs of men. If even one or two could be swayed to a single cause, there was little that could stand their way.</p><p>Aelrindel seemed to realize the same thing and barked orders for retreat in Elder. Those elves that could move melted back into the forest, leaving Lambert free to turn on him. Aelrindel smiled a bit. “Enough, witcher. We will make no further attempts on your life or that of your witch there. Leave the forest, and we will no longer meddle in the affairs of men.”</p><p>“Can’t do that. Not while you live.” Lambert advanced, and Aelrindel pulled his struggling sister more firmly in front of him, so that all that could be seen were his eyes peeking around her hair.</p><p>“My sister is not attacking you, and did not participate in the deaths. To get to me, you would have to go through her, would you not? Does that not violate your code to never spill the blood of the innocent?”</p><p>Lambert scoffed. “Innocent? There is nothing innocent about her.” He drove his blade forward, straight through Chandrelle and into her brother. Both their mouths gaped open. As he pulled the blade back, Chandrelle crumpled to the ground clutching at her stomach. Aelrindel stumbled back and shifted shape, taking the form of a bear. But it was still a wounded bear, and nowhere near a match for a witcher. Lambert dodged the heavy, clawed paw that swiped at his head and drove his blade right into the shapeshifter’s heart.</p><p>Chandrelle watcher her brother die, and laughed weakly. “He always thought he was so strong, so much better than all the rest, that he could take such a shape.”</p><p>Triss cocked her head and went to crouch beside her. She pulled out a healing potion, and from the way that Chandrelle’s eyes fastened on it, she knew what it was. “I’d like an explanation for what you just said.”</p><p>Chandrelle rolled her eyes. “I am no shifter, woman. I know almost nothing about it. But to take a shape larger than your own is supposed to be quite difficult. Creating something from nothing. Smaller is possible, easy, same size is also easy. Larger…a skill only the strongest shifters can master. A skill that has been reserved for my direct bloodline for generations. Gone, now, unless I have more children.”</p><p>“There is Jaskier,” she pointed out. Chandrelle spat to the side, blood tinged spit shining in the starlight.</p><p>“A useless mongrel.”</p><p>Lambert snarled behind her and Triss shoved the potion back into her pouch. “He is of more use than you. You will live – or not – by the skill of your hand or the will of your people. Just remember, the oath your brother swore binds your entire clan. We will take no more justice from your hides, but if you, any of you,” she said, raising her voice to make certain any listeners could hear, “harm humans again, we will not be so lenient. Keep to your forest and your own business.”</p><p>“You cannot bind me here, witch. With my brother gone, I am free to return to my husband. We can start over,” Chandrelle promised.</p><p>“If you can find him, maybe. He was stripped of his title, his wealth, his lands, and his power. He has been branded a traitor and cast out to wander, to survive on his own skills, as it is a punishable offense to give him aid. By now, all of Kerack knows that you’re an elf. And all of Kerack knows of the king’s prejudice. I do not think you will have much luck with your schemes there anymore.”</p><p>“How?!”</p><p>“Your youngest son seemed to take some offense to all that the pair of you were up to and went to the king. The king was not over fond of your schemes either.”</p><p>“<em>I should have drowned him when he slipped out of me!</em>”</p><p>Lambert growled. “He’s a damned sight better than you. Be glad for that – it’s for him alone I haven’t cut out your shriveled heart.”</p><p>“I think we’re done here.”</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt could not take his eyes off of Jaskier, astride his hips with head thrown back, gloriously nude under the light of the stars and the glowing embers of their cook fire. His chest gleamed with sweat, his leaking cock bobbing against his stomach with every delicious, perfect roll of his hips, kiss-reddened mouth open as he panted and swore with his pleasure. He could not keep his hands still, could not choose just one part of Jaskier to touch and hold, and so his touch wandered almost frantically over him, only careful to avoid touching his arm where the stitches stood black against pale skin. He tweaked both nipples, thrilling to the wanton cry it elicited, then sat up and pulled Jaskier’s mouth back to his so he could swallow all those noises for himself. Jaskier’s hands fisted in his hair, pulling just on the edge of too hard, as Jaskier kissed back frantically.</p><p>~</p><p>Triss removed her cloak and took the unneeded vials of healing potion she had taken with her, just in case, and put them back in her work chest. “Thank you for your assistance. I’m afraid combat is not my strongest suit. Would you like to stay for dinner?”</p><p>Lambert shifted a bit, glancing around the room. “I…suppose? If the girls are playing with fire, might be a good idea to stay out of the way.”</p><p>“Excellent. I did not have a chance to eat much earlier. I’ll ring for something to be brought. Any requests?”</p><p>Lambert shrugged. “Whatever’s handy, I’m not picky.” He found a stool and pulled a rag and wetstone out of pouch on his belt and began to clean and sharpen his sword. Triss took a moment to study the steady, confident motions of his hands as they went about the basic maintenance. She hummed a bit, considering, and went to summon a servant to fetch them something hot from the kitchens and a flask of wine.</p><p>While they waited, she began to cut up some herbs, enjoying the odd peace of just working quietly with another person. When Lambert sheathed his sword and pulled out a long, wicked looking dagger to tend to, she cleared her throat delicately. “Word spread over the continent that Jaskier the bard had returned to Oxenfurt to put on a grand concert. Did you have a chance to attend?”</p><p>“Yeah. Strangest fucking thing I ever saw. I liked it, though. Never heard music like it before, and sure as hell never seen a performance like it either.” He gestured a little, as though framing a stage. “Had a whole mess of musicians playing, and dancers, wearing costumes and everything. Not practical,” he added thoughtfully. “They’d catch something nasty if they’d pranced around in those getups in a stiff breeze, but colorful.”</p><p>“I regret I was unable to go. It sounds most entertaining. He and Geralt are quite attached to each other.”</p><p>Lambert snorted. “You don’t know the half of it. Been watching them moon over each other all damned winter. If that skinny little bit of nothing asked for the moon, I swear Geralt would do his damnedest to climb up and get it for him.”</p><p>“They’re in love. That is never something to take lightly or underestimate.”</p><p>“No kidding. How an ugly bastard like him got so lucky, I will never know. Witchers aren’t exactly built for that sort of thing.”</p><p>“I don’t see why not,” she said, fairly reasonably she thought. “The mutagens that enhanced your bodies did nothing to alter your ability to feel. You just need someone who can see past the idiotic myths that have grown about witchers, and who knows what could happen? And even those have grown less over the years.”</p><p>“True enough, I guess. I don’t get chased out of towns nearly as often as I used to these days.”</p><p>“You see? There’s no reason that love is out of the question for any of you, if you leave yourselves at least a little bit open to it.” She looked towards the door as a knock sounded. “Ah, dinner. Good, I’m famished.” She cleaned her hands off and went to collect the heavily laden tray. It was fortunate that her guest was not picky, as she knew a great many people who would turn their noses up at the thick beef stew and warm bread slathered with butter that was on offer – too common, of course. But Lambert had perked up at the smell and even put his dagger away.</p><p>He moved a few books off to the side to make a spot at her table for the tray and sat down to dig in without ceremony. “So what do you like to do for fun?” she asked, dipping a piece of bread in the stew and bringing it to her mouth.</p><p>Lambert gave her an incredulous look. “Fun?”</p><p>“Yes, fun. You must have things you enjoy,” she said reasonably. “It can’t simply be all moving one monster to the next.”</p><p>“Witchers aren’t exactly…I mean. Fun isn’t really in the job description.”</p><p>Triss raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So there is nothing in your life except contracts? Nothing that you do for no other reason than that you simply want to because you enjoy it?”</p><p>“Fucking,” he said, challenge and belligerence dripping from his voice.</p><p>“There, see? Fucking is fun – and not at all to do with monster killing. Is that all?”</p><p>He seemed a little taken aback that she hadn’t batted an eye over his blunt and crude answer, and his mouth worked for a moment. “Well, the bard…I got this little…never mind. It’s stupid.”</p><p>Triss reached across the table to touch his hand. “I doubt that. if you told me you enjoyed making dolls out of straw, I would not find it stupid. I, for instance, enjoy sneaking away to this lovely field of flowers that I know and making flower crowns like I did as a little girl. Not for study, not for magic of any kind. But because they’re pretty.”</p><p>He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Well. I’ve been learning how to play this little…harp. Thing. Ain’t much, and I’m nowhere near as good as the bard, but it’s. Nice.”</p><p>Triss smiled warmly. “That sounds lovely. I’ve always enjoyed the sound of the harp, so clear and delicate.” She left her hand touching his for several more seconds as they just stared at each other. When the tips of his ears began to turn pink, she calmly withdrew her hand and resumed eating.</p><p>“I know this spot, in the kestrel mountains,” he blurted. “Every summer, the whole thing is just flowers far as the eye can see, reds and blues and yellows.”</p><p>“I have not been to the Kestrel mountains before. I’ll have to make the journey sometime.” He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it closed and focused furiously on his food. “The mountains are rather large, I believe. If you were in the area, I don’t suppose I could talk you into showing me?”</p><p>“If I’m around,” he agreed gruffly, peeking out at her.</p><p>“I would appreciate it. I am beginning to grow tired of Court postings. The constant tricks and traps, the giant egos that must be placated at all times, the foolish games that are played. I miss blunt honesty more each day.”</p><p>“Don’t know how you stand it at all. It’s stupid. When kings play games, people die, and for no good reasons,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Don’t let a king hear you say that,” she teased. “There is no better reason than a king’s ego!” Lambert snorted something that might have been a laugh and she grinned widely at him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pat attention to the tags. We touch a little on Jaskier's upbringing here, and there are mentions of child molestation, though nothing at all graphic.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>